Collecting Curiosities Eighteenth-Century Museum

Collecting curiosities Eighteenth-century Museum Stobaeanum and the development of ethnographic collections in the nineteenth century Naum, Magdalena; Ingvardson, Gitte

2020

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LUND UNIVERSITY

PO Box 117 221 00 Lund +46 46-222 00 00 Collecting curiosities

EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY MUSEUM STOBÆANUM AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF ETHNOGRAPHIC COLLECTIONS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

Magdalena Naum & Gitte Tarnow Ingvardson (eds.) In 1735, professor Kilian Stobæus donated his collections to Lund University laying the foundation for the university’s first museum. The ‘Museum Stobæanum’ contained over 3000 natural history, historical and ethnographic objects typical of the cabinets of curiosity. This richly illustrated book is the first comprehensive history of these collections. Eighteen chapters, written by an interdisciplinary group of scholars, explore Stobæus as a researcher and collector; the concept, organization and development of the museum through time; as well as the culture of collecting, including its scientific and symbolic meaning. The authors also investigate specific examples of museum objects: fossils, plants enclosed in a herbarium, a crocodile, seashells and insects, North American artefacts, an Egyptian mummy, coins and medals, the skull of Descartes, Guyana war clubs and ethnographic objects from the South Pacific. The book contributes to a better understanding of Stobæus and his peers in their pursuit of knowledge through collecting as well as the complex processes that enabled early modern museums. On a broader level, it illuminates the global connections and intellectual environment of eighteenth-century Lund and Sweden. 9 789172 674257

ISBN 978-91-7267-425-7 (tryck) ISBN 978-91-7267-426-4 (pdf) COLLECTING CURIOSITIES

Collecting curiosities Eighteenth-century Museum Stobæanum and the development of ethnographic collections in the nineteenth century

edited by magdalena naum & gitte tarnow ingvardson Cover image Representation of four classical elements made by Johan Leche for Kilian Stobæus. Water (Sa- lacia) made of seashells, corals and seaweed; fire (Vulcan) made of stone; air (Jupiter) made of bird feathers and butterflies; and earth (Ceres) made of seeds, grain, and plants. These elements connected with the major categories of objects collected by Stobæus and displayed at Museum Stobæanum. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

ISBN 978-91-7267-425-7 (tryck) 978-91-7267-426-4 (pdf)

Cover design and typesetting: Gunilla Albertén Printed in Sweden at Media-Tryck, Lund University, Lund 2020 Contents

1. Introduction Magdalena Naum & Gitte Tarnow Ingvardson 7

Part I. Kilian Stobæus as a scholar and collector

2. Kilian Stobæus – a brief biography Magdalena Naum 14 3. Collecting networks of Kilian Stobæus Magdalena Naum 22

Part II. Museum Stobæanum

4. ‘The Brown Art Cabinet’ at Museum Stobæanum. Reconstructing the collection of artificialia within the eighteenth century Museum of Natural History at Lund University Andreas Manhag 32 5. The ‘Indian Idol’ of Samuel Hesselius. Dutch fur trade, Caribbean conches and cultural entanglement in New Netherland Andreas Manhag 60 6. The Egyptian mummy: curious collectors and contested commodities in the eighteenth century Joachim Östlund 70 7. Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals Gitte Tarnow Ingvardson & Line Bjerg 78 8. The crocodile Ulf Johansson Dahre 90 9. The true skull of Descartes? – A source critical study Andreas Manhag & Per Karsten 98 10. Petrified organisms: the fossil collection of Kilian Stobæus Anders Lindskog, Per Ahlberg & Mats E. Eriksson 116 11. Kilian Stobæus’s natural history collection: objects from high in the sky to deep in the sea Maria Mostadius 124 12. Herbarium Vivum – a necessity in every gentleman’s collection Ulf Arup & Maria Mostadius 134

Part III. Development of ethnographic collections in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries

13. The South Seas objects and the development of ethnographic collections in the nineteenth century Ulf Johansson Dahre 146 14. Two ‘Guiana war clubs’ Christian Feest 154 15. Penobscot model canoe and moccasins Magdalena Naum 166 16. Arrows and bow from Oregon and Northern California Magdalena Naum 174 17. Exhibiting Stobæus. Ethnographic collections on display in Lund from the eighteenth century to the present day Per Karsten 184

Postscript

18. The return of the cabinet of curiosity Ulf Johansson Dahre 198

Bibliography 207 1. Introduction

Magdalena Naum & Gitte Tarnow Ingvardson

Museum Stobæanum was the first public museum in Lund and one of about 55 collections known to exist in early eighteenth century Sweden.1 The museum was founded by Kilian Stobæus (1690–1742), a key Swedish academic figure of the early Enlightenment. Stobæus assembled the museum over several decades, and regarded it as a major accomplishment of his personal and professional life. He took immense pleasure in organizing and handling the collections, which supported his research, provided material for his teaching and were an endless source of enjoyment for him and for visiting guests. After the collection was donated to the university in 1735, it became a major at- traction for visiting scholars, students and curious guests. In the late eighteenth century, however, the museum fell into disrepair, suffering from poor storage conditions. In 1805, a decision was made to split the collections. The natural history specimens were moved to the newly established Zoological Museum while the culture-historical and ethnographic collections formed the basis of the Historical Mu- seum. In the early and mid-nineteenth century, the ethnographic and archaeological collections increased, mostly through non-systematic means of gifts, exchanges and purchases. At that time, the method of collecting artefacts had remained close to that employed by Stobæus. Personal interests of the curators and researchers connected with the Historical Museum, most notably Sven Nilsson (1787–1883)2, continued to shape the patterns of acquisition. At the same time, and under the leadership of Nilsson, natural history collections at the Zoological Museum increased exponentially and underwent process of systematization.

1 Löwegren 1952, 336–70. 2 Nilsson was a zoologist and archaeologist. He was a professor of Natural History at Lund Univer- sity from 1832 to 1856 during which time he was actively engaged in the work of the Historical and Zo- ological museums. He was involved in organizing and managing natural history collections since 1812.

7 Introduction There has been very little research on Stobæus’s collections and the subsequent ‘life’ of the museum, including its split and development of modern institutions.3 The project Beyond Curiosity and Wonder—Understanding the Museum Stobæanum aimed at a better understanding of the collections and the processes of collecting. Our goal has been to identify and document the original collection that belonged to Stobæus, generate historical knowledge about the provenance of objects and socio-cultural conditions of collecting and to unite the collections, currently split between different institutions, on a digital platform open to the public.4 We also wanted to initiate research on the nineteenth century ethnographic acquisitions and their connection to the history of colonialism and global engagements. The eclectic character of the collections demanded a collaborative effort of our multidisciplinary team, which consisted of the curators of the Biological Museum in Lund – botanist Ulf Arup and conservator Maria Mostadius; curators of the Historical Museum at Lund University – archaeologists Per Karsten and Andreas Manhag and numismatist Gitte Tarnow Ingvardson, as well as scholars from Lund University: anthropologist Ulf Johansson Dahre, geologists Per Ahlberg, Mats E. Eriksson and Anders Lindskog, historian Joachim Östlund, historian of science Håkan Håkansson, and Latinist Cajsa Sjöberg; Aarhus University – archaeologist Magdalena Naum, and University of Western Australia – historian Jacqueline Van Gent.

Contents This book presents some of the research results of the project, and is divided into three parts. Part I introduces Kilian Stobæus as a scientist and collector. In chapter 2, Naum provides insight into Stobæus’s life. She draws a picture of a brilliant researcher and a dedicated teacher trapped in a weakened body, which limited his ability to travel and conduct fieldwork. This makes Stobæus’s ability to create a well-furnished museum an even more admirable achievement. The museum was largely a product of Stobæus’s networking skills; the processes of object exchanges, gifts and purchases are captured in his many letters to leading scientist and collectors across Europe (chapter 3). In Part II, different categories of objects within Museum Stobæanum are presented and analysed. We enter this theme with Manhag’s detailed description of the process of identifying the eighteenth-century ‘artificialia’ (ethnographic and archaeological artefacts) in the collection (chapter 4). Through in-depth studies of inven-

3 Tegnér 1871; Hildebrand 1934; Rydbeck 1943; Löwegren 1952. 4 At www.alvin-portal.org, ’museum stobaeanum’, https://www.alvin-portal.org/alvin/resultList.js- f?faces-redirect=true&includeViewParams=true&query=museum%20stobaeanum&searchType=EX- TENDED&dswid=5734.

8 Introduction tories and archival material Manhag has succeeded in locating 75 per cent of the original collection of artefacts that can be divided in ten categories. A corner stone in Stobæus’s collection was thousands of geological specimens: fossils, metals, minerals, rocks and sediment/soils. In chapter 10, Lindskog, Ahlberg and Eriksson explore one of Stobæus’s great interests – fossils. They focus on the specimens that undoubtedly belonged to the original collection, present their origins and Stobæus’s views and interpretations of this geological material. Stobæus’s natural history collection held 1466 objects. Larger animals were on open display, which is one of the reasons why only 270 objects have survived to this day. In spite of a low survival rate, the natural history collections holds a wealth of intriguing stories. Museum Stobæanum had, like most other cabinets of curiosities, a crocodile hanging from the ceiling. In chapter 8, Johansson Dahre explores the history and origin of the crocodile in Stobæus’s collection, and discusses how and why ‘crocodiles and other monsters’ have fascinated scientists and visitors of the cabinets of curiosity from the Renaissance to present days. In chapter 11, Mostadius discusses now extinct insects collected by Stobæus’s student and colleague Johan Leche in Scania, she explores the fascinating subject of sea shells used as collectibles, decoration and currency and she tells the intriguing story of a horsefly from ‘Hell’ that attacked Carl Linnæus. In chapter 12, Arup and Mostadius discuss the historical background of Hebarium Vivum – books with mounted plants. Stobæus’s interest in plants and herbs went beyond their medical properties, and he collected and arranged both medicinal and non-medicinal plants. Stobæus’s Herbarum Vivum was not a part of his donation in 1735, but was sold and unfortunately disappeared shortly after his death. What survived in the collections of the Biological Museum are few sheets with mounted plants made by Leche, who developed his ardent interest in plants during his stay with Stobæus, and who published the first flora of the region, Primitiae Florae Scan- icae in 1744. Chapter 7 describes an altogether different part of Stobæus’s field of interests: medals and coins. Stobæus’s medal and coin collection was, like his Herbarum Vivum, not part of the 1735 donation, but was sold by his widow, Forentina, to Lund University in 1745. With help of the original inventory of the sale, Ingvardson and Bjerg reconstruct the content and organisation of a collection that clearly reflects Stobæus’s interest in science and local history as well as his taxonomic capabilities. Among the objects gathered in Museum Stobæanum was also a small collection of artefacts labeled ‘artificialia’. Manhag in chapter 5 describes the fascinating history of an ‘Indian’ female idol pendant. The pendant was a part of a collection sent to Count Carl Gyllenborg in 1736 by the pastor Samuel Hesselius who served at the Swedish-speaking parish of Christina in Pennsylvania. Manhag identifies the pen-

9 Introduction dant as belonging to a group of marine shell ornaments manufactured by the Dutch colonists in New Netherland and traded for furs with the Native Americans. In chapter 6, Östlund presents one of the centrepieces of Museum Stobæanum: the Egyptian mummy. Following the mummy’s journey from Egypt to Lund, he explores diplomatic relations between Sweden and the Ottoman Empire, trade and fascination with mummies, and polemics about their uses for medicinal purposes, including a study by Leche. Manhag and Karsten presents perhaps the most contro- versial discovery of the project in chapter 9. They unfold the fascinating story of the fate of human remains of the famous philosopher René Descartes. Manhag and Karsten argue that the skull in Paris, presently regarded as the skull of Descartes, is in fact a forgery, and conclude that a piece of Descartes’s real skull has been in the Lund collections since the eighteenth century. Part III reviews the development of ethnographic collections in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Johansson Dahre launches the theme in chapter 13, where he discusses the emergence of ethnographic museums and presents the Pacif- ic collection of the Historical Museum in Lund. The main part of the collection was acquired in the mid-nineteenth century in connection with Swedish round-the- world expeditions. It was during such a voyage that Eduard Olof Liljewalch had his first encounters with Native Americans, as described by Naum in chapter 16. Along the American West Coast, Eduard acquired a bow and two sets of arrows, in many ways typical indigenous artefacts collected by the Europeans. Eduard was the son of entrepreneur Carl Fredrik Liljewalch, who was the first to outfit Swedish ships for commercial voyages around the world and who donated a number of ethnographic objects to Swedish museums. The theme of Native American weapons is also explored by Christian Feest in chapter 14. He examines ‘Guiana war clubs’ collected in South America and setting them in a broader international context suggests that one of them might be the earliest known bladed ‘Guiana war club’ in museum collections and might be connected with the mid-eighteenth century Swedish exploration of Suriname. In chapter 15, Naum discusses a Native American miniature canoe with a set of dolls and a pair of unworn child-size moccasins acquired in the 1820s by Henrik L. Sundewall. They are examples of souvenirs made by the Penob- scot of northeastern America for the growing tourist industry that had important economic as well as social consequences for the indigenous peoples. Karsten concludes the theme of the development of ethnographic museums in chapter 17 with a vivid description of the ups and downs of Museum Stobæanum after Stobæus’s death. Karsten traces the collections’ journey from an old-fashioned and poorly curated exhibition in the late eighteenth century, through an aesthetic ‘art exhibition’ made under the guidance of Otto Rydbeck in the 1930s, to its present and future contextualized exhibition form. The book is concluded by Johansson

10 Introduction Dahre, who in chapter 18 theorizes and reflects on the question of the recent re-emergence and interest in cabinets of curiosities as an exhibition and art form.

Acknowledgements The presented research and the publication was made possible thanks to the generous funding received from the Riksbankens Jubileumsfond as well as grants from the Australian Research Council Centre of Excellence for the History of Emotions (CHE), the Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul (SRII) and Aarhus University Research Foundation (AUFF). We would also like to acknowledge the importance of our numerous collaborators. We are grateful to Lars Berglund, Line Maj-Britt Højbjerg Bjerg, Stephanie Bowry, Mattias Ekman, Christian Feest, Lærke Maria Andersen Funder, Steve Grafe, Valdemar Hedelykke Grambye, Klas Grinell, Hanna Hodacs, Franziska Knoll, Laurie LaBar, Ashley McClelland, Harald Meller, Påvel Nicklasson, Matthiew Norris, Aoife O’Brien, Mårten Snickare, Meredith Vasta, Claus Veltmann, Ulla-Karin Warberg and Karin Ådahl for helping us to increase our knowledge about the collections and the social context of collecting. Thanks to Gunnar Menander for completing photographic documentation of the collections, Steven Sampson for proofreading this volume and Gunilla Albertén and Clyde Lange for producing the book.

11 12 Part I. Kilian Stobæus as a scholar and collector

13 Fig. 2.1. Portrait of Kilian Stobæus by K. P. Mörth, 1737. Lund University Art Collection. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

14 2. Kilian Stobæus – a brief biography

Magdalena Naum

Childhood and youth

Kilian Stobæus (Fig. 2.1) was born on 9 February 1690 in Vinslöv, in Scania. He came from a well-educated family of pastors, academics, public servants and apothecaries.1 His father, Nils Stobæus, worked first as a bursar at Lund University and then as a county bailiff. His mother, Brita Treutiger, came from a German-speaking family living in Gothenburg. The Treutigers had wide mercantile connections and owned the ‘Unicorn’ pharmacy, established by Stobæus’s grandfather. Stobæus spent most of his childhood and early teenage years with his uncles and aunts in Angeröd, Karlskrona, Lund and Gothenburg. The premature death of his father prompted his mother to seek help with the boy’s education and care. Anoth- er tragic incident that marked his childhood, and was to have bearings on his adult life, was the contraction of a severe case of tuberculosis, which, despite specialized care, left him blind in one eye and crippled. These impairments limited his ability to travel and study abroad, as was customary at that time for anyone aspiring to a career in academia or government. Despite these obstacles, and the breaks in his education caused by repeated episodes of sickness, Stobæus excelled at his studies and impressed his teachers with his keen intellect. In 1704, he moved to Gothenburg to stay with his uncle Kilian Treutiger, who offered to sponsor his education. Ini- tially intending to study law, Stobæus was drawn to medicine and natural history, and he received tutorials from the best teachers in the town. One of them was Olof Bromelius, a physician, member of the Swedish Collegium Medicum, botanist and collector. This acquaintance, and Stobæus’s friendship with Bromelius’s son Magnus, who in the course of the early eighteenth century developed his father’s collections

1 This biographical sketch is based on Fürst (1907) and Broberg (nd.).

15 Kilian Stobæus – a brief biography into one of the largest museum of natural history in Sweden had a profound impact on Stobæus.2 It likely inspired him to begin his own cabinet of curiosities and to continue with his medical studies. In Gothenburg, he also had an opportunity to study pharmacology at the pharmacy owned by his family. This experience also af- fected his career choice and impulse to collect.

Medical studies in Lund In 1709, after five years of studies in Gothenburg, nineteen-year-old Stobæus moved to Lund and enrolled at the university to study medicine. The war between Sweden and Denmark interrupted his education, but it also created an opportunity to practice field medicine at the navy headquarters in Karlskrona, under the supervision of the navy physician Johan Gottschalk Tranæus. Also based in Karlskrona was Johan E. Ferber, a pharmacist, natural history scholar and collector who cultivated medicinal and exotic plants in his private greenhouses. Stobæus befriended and stayed in touch with Ferber throughout his life. Stobæus completed his medical studies in 1717, and four years later he received a doctorate in medicine from Lund University. After graduation, he held several different posts. He worked as a lecturer in medicine at Lund University, practiced as a physician in Gothenburg and Malmö and offered private lessons in medicine and natural history. This period also brought changes in his personal life. In 1725, he married Florentina Schubert, and the couple moved to a large and centrally located house in Lund.

Professorship and development of collections The period after moving permanently to Lund and eventually joining the Lund University faculty as a professor in natural philosophy and experimental physics in 1729 and then as a professor of history in 1732, was the most productive in terms of conducting research, tutoring, developing medical practice and furnishing his museum. The accounts of his students, most notably Carl Linnæus, make it clear that by 1727, Stobæus had developed a large private library and a sizable collection of ‘different types of natural history specimens, stones, shells, birds and herbaria with pressed and mounted plants.’3 Exchanges of letters with Magnus Bromelius in the 1720s indicate that Stobæus owned a comprehensive collection of fossils and min-

2 Berg Madsen & Ebbestad 2013. 3 Linnæus & Afzelius 1823, 10; Löwgren 1952, 88.

16 Kilian Stobæus – a brief biography erals that they traded with each other.4 Fossils and geological specimens formed the core of Stobæus’s collections. They were apparently the only part of the museum that he inventoried and catalogued in a systematic way.5 Both the collections and the library, which by the time of Stobæus’s death increased to contain over 2500 publications on such diverse subjects as palaeontology, botany, museology and history6, were accessible to his students – both those who periodically lodged with him and those studying natural history in Lund. Stobæus firmly believed in the empirical foundations of knowledge, and he used his collections for didactic purposes. He encouraged his students to conduct field studies and experiments and to collect as part of their own scholarly endeavours.7 In his diary, Linnæus acknowledged the importance of Stobæus’s inspiring example in starting his own herbarium and in pursuing the studies of botany that propelled him to international fame. Linnæus also recounted the excellent opportunities to study minerals and fossils, the favourite subject of Stobæus, through his daily handling of these specimens at Stobæus’s museum.8 Other students as well benefited from Sto- bæus’s engaged theoretical and practical instructions. Many of these students would go on to become prominent scholars and practitioners. Sven Lagerbring became a professor in history at Lund University, where he authored a number of important historical works. Johan Leche9 and Nils Rosén von Rosenstein became accomplished physicians and members of the Swedish Royal Academy of Sciences. Leche became professor of medicine in Turku, and Rosén von Rosenstein went to Uppsala, where he developed the field of paediatrics.

Stobæus’s scientific interests and output Stobæus also used his collections to conduct experiments and observations, publishing his research as articles and dissertations. The scientific scope of his research was broad. The twenty-seven dissertations published in the decade between 1730 and 1741 addressed such diverse subjects as palaeontology, archaeology, numismatics and history. Equally wide-ranging was his methodological approach. He was familiar with analogy and comparative research and conducted morphological and taxonom-

4 Fürst 1907, 75; Berg Madsen & Ebbestad 2013. 5 Håkansson 2019, 14; Lindskog, Ahlberg & Eriksson, chapter 10 this volume. 6 Corylander 1742, accessed 2019-07-07. 7 Löwegren 1952, 87–8. 8 Linnæus to Kungliga Vetenskapssocieteten, 26 Dec, 1731; Löwegren 1952, 91. 9 See also Östlund, chapter 6, Mostadius, chapter 11 and Arup & Mostadius, chapter 12 this volume for further references to Leche.

17 Kilian Stobæus – a brief biography ic analysis, physical and chemical experiments. In the field of palaeontology, his most original study was perhaps De Nummulo Brattensburgensi (1732), an examination of a collection of round fossil shells and fragments of ammonites from Ignaber- ga in Scania. The shells (Nummuli Brattensburgenses) had previously attracted only sparse scientific attention, and there was considerable confusion regarding their origins. Some scholars regarded these shells as calcified ancient coins, while others considered them to be minerals, fossilized plants or animals.10 Based on the similarities to living organisms and comprehensive comparative and experimental research, Stobæus correctly showed the fossils to derive from the valves of marine inverte- brates. He thought that these fossils belonged to bivalve molluscs and that they were related to oysters. Subsequent research, however, has shown them instead to be craniate brachiopods, only distantly related to bivalve molluscs.11 In his paleontological research, Stobæus built on the empirical philosophy of Francis Bacon and Robert Boyle, emphasizing the importance of systematic empirical observations of natural phenomena. He was also influenced by the physico-theological understanding of nature advanced in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries by scholars such as John Woodward (1665–1728), Johann Jakob Scheuchzer (1672–1733) and Friedrich Christian Lesser (1692–1754). Physico-theology was a paradigm for explaining the intricacy and development of nature as an evidence of divine planning and intelligent design.12 From this perspective, the existence of fossils was evidence for the biblical flood, a view that Stobæus espoused most clearly in his final work Monumenta diluvii universali, published in 1741. Stobæus also contributed to the discipline of archaeology. In his 1738 dissertation, entitled [Miolner hamar Thors], seu ceraunii betulique lapides disputatione historica illustrati, he engaged with the question of the origins and function of stone tools recovered during excavations (Fig. 2.2). Reviewing existing scholarship and conducting comparative and morphological research of stone objects from his own modest collection (the inventory from 1759 listed 28 examples of archaeological stone tools13), Sto- bæus concluded that these objects were the earliest types of human-made tools, predating the invention of iron. Thus, he speculated about the two-age system (Stone and Iron Age). Furthermore, he suggested that the stone tools were not just of religious or ritual significance, as many of his Scandinavian contemporaries thought, but also had practical functions that could be deduced from their shape and size. Stobæus’s scholarship was in many respects original, building on the theoretical and methodological advances of the time and attracting some attention both in

10 Stobæus 1732, 7–8; Eriksson 2012. 11 Clarkson 1998; Lindskog, Ahlberg & Eriksson, chapter 10 this volume. 12 Glacken 1967, 177, 375–428; Håkansson 2019. 13 Lidbeck 1759.

18 Kilian Stobæus – a brief biography

Fig. 2.2. Flint dagger found in 1690, in the church of Mellan-Grevie near Malmö, ‘in the wall behind the altar that crumbled due to its old age’ (lower picture) and a broken flint dagger (or spearhead?) found in 1713 outside of Lund inside a stone monument (upper picture) as illustrated in Sto- bæus’s [Miolner hamar Thors], seu ceraunii betulique lapides disputatione historica illustrati (1738).

Sweden and abroad. His accomplishments secured him a membership in the newly established and prestigious Royal Society of Sciences in Uppsala, where he joined such established intellectuals as Anders Celsius, Emmanuel Swedenborg, Magnus Bromelius and Christopher Polhem. Yet, in some respects, Stobæus was also traditional, if not old-fashioned. This was most visibly reflected in the organization of his museum, which, judging from contemporary visitors’ descriptions, resembled more the classic cabinets or curiosities of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries rather than the systematically and taxonomically ordered displays of the Enlighten- ment museums.14

Stobæus’s medical practice Teaching and conducting research preoccupied most of Stobæus’s time, but he also continued to practice medicine. His theoretical and practical understanding of medicine was largely shaped by the work of Herman Boerhaave. Like him, Stobæus taught medicine through bedside visits to patients, and he used physical examina-

14 Håkansson 2019.

19 Kilian Stobæus – a brief biography tion to make his diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment plan, which included a combination of dietary measures and prescribed medicines.15 In 1732, in acknowledgment of Stobæus’s accomplishments and medical knowledge, King Frederick I of Sweden granted him the title of archiater, a chief physician of the court. Stobæus had a rather large circle of patients and treated the wealthy as well as the poor. He met some of the poorer patients at his own home, helped by his students who were privately taking classes in anatomy and pharmacology. Leche, who lived with the Stobæus family for several years in the 1730s, was charged with preparation of medicines for the poor patients in Stobæus’s home pharmacy, Laboratorium Chemicum. One of Stobæus’s regular practices between 1727 and 1741 was at the spa resort of Ramlösa, where he treated and socialized with the cultural and intellectual elites. At Ramlösa he met some of his closest friends with whom he engaged in in- tense exchanges of both letters and objects. One of them was Theodor W. Grothaus, a Copenhagen physician with interests in botany and palaeontology and an avid collector. Another was Count Carl Gyllenborg, chancellor of the universities in Lund and Uppsala and former Swedish diplomatic envoy to England. Gyllenborg donated many ethnographic objects to Museum Stobæanum.16 Ramlösa and its surroundings also served as a laboratory and fieldwork site for Stobæus’s students, who followed him there to practice medicine under his supervision and to study ‘Historia Naturali Curiosa’.17

Donation of collections and final years In 1735, Stobæus, now acting as a dean of Lund University, decided to donate his natural and culture history collections to the university. The decision was based on a combination of reasons. The university had just renovated and modernized its main building to include an anatomy theatre, library and a laboratory with a collection of mechanical and physical instruments. Such a ‘temple of science’ was an appropriate setting for housing Stobæus’s collections, which he understood as valuable and necessary for sustaining research. The collection was a touchstone of Sto- bæus’s life and work. The establishment of the university museum based on his cabinet of curiosities monumentalized his own achievements and academic importance. Furthermore, its transfer to the university guaranteed that the collection would not be broken apart. The only surviving portrait of Stobæus (Fig. 2.1), painted in 1737, alludes in its composition to the importance of collections for Stobæus’s identity. He is surrounded by the objects from his museum: a snake, shells, flowers

15 Fürst 1907, 51–66. 16 See e.g. Manhag, chapter 4, Östlund, chapter 6 and Karsten, chapter 17 this volume. 17 Stobæus to Carl Gyllenborg, 1729, in Fürst 1907, 57–8.

20 Kilian Stobæus – a brief biography and a fossilized plant, a stuffed crocodile, a bird-of-paradise, and ‘a cave of stones and mussel shells, whereupon Bacchus stands, made of glass, and inside a Chinese idol.’18 Stobæus continued to collect, teach and conduct research during the next six years. However, he suffered rapidly declining health. In letters from this final period, he complained about his unbearable pain and the ‘healing’ that handling of objects offered. Writing to Grothaus, Stobæus described natural history curiosities as having ‘the same reviving effects as the elixir of life and, as a true magical potion, dispel my weariness and numb my pain. The objects of nature entrance me so through their simple sight, soothing even the worst hypochondriac and rheumatic pains, which otherwise would be unbearable, therefore I constantly call this small collection of mine Emplastrum Anodynum or medicated bandage.’19 Stobæus died at his home in Lund on 17 February 1742. He was 52 years old. His elaborate funeral in the Lund Cathedral was attended by a large crowd of former patients, students, scholars, family, friends and acquaintances. He was remembered as a kind and generous person. A committed scholar with sharp intellect and cha- risma, close to his students, whom he and his wife treated with parental care. He was ‘sensible and wise, but not malicious or false; learned to the highest degree but hated useless whims.’20

18 Lidbeck 1759, 522. 19 Stobæus to Grothaus nd, in Fürst 1907, 96. 20 Benzelius, 1742.

21 Fig. 3.1. A specimen of Micraster? (PMU 1001) from the Cretaceous collected on the island of Ven that was given to Magnus Bromelius by Stobæus. No. 4 on the label refers to Stobæus’s catalogue number. Photo: Museum of Evolution, Uppsala University, courtesy of Jan Ove R. Ebbestad and Vivianne Berg-Madsen.

22 3. Collecting networks of Kilian Stobæus

Magdalena Naum

Introduction Throughout his life, Stobæus assembled a collection of thousands of natural history, archaeological and ethnographic objects, a cabinet of coins and medals and a sizable library. Like many other contemporary collectors, he was interested in completing his collection and was attracted to unique specimens: ‘the rarer they are the dearer they are to me’, he confessed to his friend and fellow scholar-collector Theodor W. Grothaus.1 Letters written by and to Stobæus in the 1720s and early 1730s paint a picture of a well-furnished museum, kaleidoscopic and encyclopaedic in its scope and ambition. These letters also illustrate the mechanism of collecting used by Sto- bæus and his peers. The Republic of Letters based on exchanges of correspondence and scientific ideas doubled as a Republic of Collectors – a circuit along which desired objects changed hands, moving from one collection to another. These means of assembling a museum were particularly important to Stobæus, whose many com- mitments in Lund, as well as poor health and physical disabilities, made field collecting and travel difficult.2

Beginning of collecting It is unknown when exactly Stobæus started to collect. However, by 1726, he had already assembled a considerable and varied collection.3 It is very likely that the initial impulse came from seeing, discussing and handling natural history curiosities

1 Stobæus to Grothaus, in Fürst 1907, 96. 2 Naum, chapter 2 this volume. 3 Fürst 1907, 15.

23 Collecting networks of Kilian Stobæus during his teenage years spent in Gothenburg. Tutorials of Olof Bromelius, a collector and physician in Gothenburg, along with his life-long friendship with Bro- melius’s son Magnus, who would develop his father’s fossil collections to the largest of its kind in Sweden, were especially important for development of Stobæus’s own interests. Letters the two physicians and collectors wrote to each other in the 1720s indicated extensive exchanges of objects, primarily fossils (Fig. 3.1). They included rare specimens, such as Scanian Glossopetræ – fossil shark teeth – which Stobæus sent to Bromelius in 1727.4 Among Stobæus’s papers at the Lund University Library, there is a manuscript of an inventory of 42 Scanian and Danish plant, animal and trace fossils that Stobæus sent to Bromelius.5 These objects might have been duplicates from Stobæus’s collection, requested by Bromelius to complete his museum and Lithographia Suecana – an encyclopaedic overview of Swedish palaeontology. Other early acquaintances that resulted in a prolific exchange of plants, botanical and pharmaceutical knowledge were those with Johan Eberhard Ferber and his son Johan Henrik. Both were pharmacists in Karlskrona and cultivated medicinal and rare plants in their greenhouse in Augerum. Stobæus met them during his medical internship with the Swedish Navy in 1710–13. In subsequent years, he received from them a wide variety of plants, such as purging croton, cardamom, aloe and Indian specimens, as well as other curiosities.6 They also discussed subjects ranging from pharmacology and medicine to the contents and sale of the cabinet of curiosities of the Amsterdam pharmacist and scholar Albertus Seba.

Development of collecting networks Judging from the preserved letters and published work, Stobæus’s network for ob- taining objects for his museum grew in the 1730s to include scholars and collectors in Scandinavia, Central and Southern Europe (Fig. 3.2). Stobæus was keen to establish and sustain contacts and reciprocal exchanges based on shared intellectual interests. A good example is his acquaintance with Jens Foss, a Copenhagen physician and professor of philosophy and medicine at Copenhagen University. Their friendship began with an exchange of introductory letters and publications. Stobæus sent Foss one of his recently published studies on fossils and received two rare dissertations, which came with a letter expressing Foss’s readiness to engage in further exchanges and hinting at his interest in trading in fossils. This initial contact was followed by a correspondence over a three-year period during which Stobæus and

4 Letters from Bromelius in Fürst 1907, 74–5; Berg-Madsen & Ebbestad 2013, 5, 11. 5 Stobæus, n.d. accessed 2018-07-07. 6 Letters from the Ferbers to Stobæus in Fürst 1907, 81–3.

24 Collecting networks of Kilian Stobæus

Fig. 3.2. Scientific network of Stobæus based on the preserved letters. Drawing: Magdalena Naum.

25 Collecting networks of Kilian Stobæus Foss exchanged parcels of gifts and letters discussing science, natural history research and academic practices in Sweden and Denmark.7 Over the years, one of the most important partners in terms of object and intellectual exchanges became Theodor W. Grothaus, a Copenhagen physician connected with the Moravian missionary circle. The two met in the summer of 1731 in the Ramlösa spa resort, where Stobæus worked as a physician. They became close friends and immediately started to exchange objects, publications and ideas with each other. From Grothaus, Stobæus received packages containing plants and artefacts from the Danish colony in Tranquebar in India and samples of barnacle shells and other natural history objects from the Faroe Islands and Iceland. Stobæus reciprocated with gifts of fossils, rocks and academic publications. He also dedicated one of his dissertations to Grothaus in acknowledgment of their stimulating discussions on natural history and in expectation that this dialogue would continue.8

The role of students and family In pursuing intellectual networks and objects for his museum, Stobæus also relied on his students. In 1729, he sent Mathias Benzelius, Nils Retzius and Johan Fjell- ström to undertake summer fieldwork in Scania, equipping them with a manual specifically written for this occasion. He encouraged them to collect plants, fossils, minerals and archaeological artefacts, take soil samples and register ancient monuments. Collecting was to be carried out in tandem with careful description of the context in which specimens and objects were found, observation of the surrounding natural environment and cultural landscape, and together with conducting inter- views with local inhabitants. It is difficult to determine what the students brought back and observed during the fieldwork, but Stobæus’s model of comprehensive field observation and collecting was admired and utilized by Linnæus during his field trips across Sweden.9 Stobæus also encouraged students to collect, do field research and systematize collections as part of their studies in Lund. Some of these collections, such as Johan Leche’s entomological and plant collections made in Simontorp, in Romeleåsen in Scania, were later added to Museum Stobæanum.10 In their travels in Sweden and abroad, Stobæus’s students also acted as his proxies, exchanging, on his behalf, publications and duplicates from his cabinet of curiosities in return for rare and new specimens offered by the local collectors. The most active proxy in this regard was David S. Koulas. Travelling through Central Europe in

7 Letters from Foss to Stobæus in Fürst 1907, 84–92. 8 Stobæus 1732. 9 Uggla 1932. 10 Uggla 1932, 137; see Mostadius, chapter 11 and Arup & Mostadius, chapter 12 this volume.

26 Collecting networks of Kilian Stobæus 1730–32, he gathered for Stobæus some fossils, ores and minerals in Saxony and Lower Silesia.11 He arranged for exchanges of objects between Stobæus and Christian Stieff, scholar, bibliophile and rector at the Maria-Magdalenen Gymnasium in Bre- slau (Wrocław). Koulas also acted as intermediary between Stobæus and the Leipzig pharmacist Johann H. Linck, whom Stobæus had befriended a couple years earlier. The objects and collections Stobæus received from his students and other ambi- tious young scholars were often a reflection of their gratitude, indebtedness and patronage. The relationship between Stobæus and Linnæus is a case in point. The two years that Linnæus spent living and studying with Stobæus were, by his own reckoning, formative in shaping his interests, methods and understanding of the value of collecting.12 Linnæus’s letters from 1728 to 1732 testify to his attempts to please Stobæus and compensate for his kindness and support. In these letters, Lin- næus mentions his relentless searches for fossils in central and northern Sweden and his eagerness to find types that Stobæus does not already have. Linnæus also sends parcels to Lund containing ores, curious rocks, insects, plants and other natural history specimens that he collected during his field trips.13 A letter Stobæus received in 1741 from Sven Hof, a lecturer in mathematics in Skara, was written in the hope of establishing mentorship and patronage. Hof expressed admiration for Stobæus’s work, admitted their mutual love of natural history and outlined his ideas for a regional study of fossils grounded in the diluvial (flood) theory, which also informed Stobæus’s scholarship. Stobæus’s expected support would be generously reciprocated with gifts of fossils and stones from the relatively large museum owned by Hof.14 Stobæus’s museum was also enriched by gifts sent by members of his family. His cousin Carl C. Treutiger, who worked for the Swedish East India Company, supplied Stobæus with Asian curiosities. In 1736, Treutiger sent to Stobæus an assortment of seashells, plants (including areca nuts and betel leaves that were used as a mild stim- ulant across Southeast Asia) and artefacts, such as dotchin scale (Fig. 3.3) and a block of Chinese paper.15

11 Fürst 1907, 36; Löwegren 1952, 87–8, 90–1. 12 Linnæus and Afzelius 1823, 10–1. 13 Linnæus to Stobæus 1728 ab, 1729, 1730 ab, 1732, accessed 2018-06-21 14 Hof to Stobæus, 1741, in Fürst 1907, 99. 15 Letter from Carlson Treutiger to Stobæus, 1736, in Fürst 1907, 135; see also Manhag, chapter 4 and Mostadius, chapter 11 this volume.

27 Collecting networks of Kilian Stobæus

Fig. 3.3. Chinese dotchin scales from the Historical Museum’s collections (LUHM 13–15). One of them might have been a gift from Carl Carlson Treutiger. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

28 Collecting networks of Kilian Stobæus Purchases through Johan C. Rothe

An additional way by which Stobæus increased his holdings was outright purchase. Stobæus relied heavily on a Copenhagen bookseller and publisher, Johan C. Rothe, who not only supplied the collector with books and prints but also purchased curiosities on his behalf. During the early eighteenth century, Copenhagen was a hub of colonial, global connections and a centre of intellectual culture. This meant that the availability of scholarly publications and museum quality collectables was much greater in Copenhagen than in southern Sweden, and Rothe’s bookselling business was one of the outlets with access to these commodities. Rothe was a key middleman in exchanges between Stobæus and Johann H. Linck that were initiated around 1728 and continued until Linck’s death in 1734. Linck, a pharmacist, scholar and collector based in Leipzig, was interested primarily in marine organisms – he had written a dissertation on starfish – and in fossils, but his museum also contained a large as- sembly of other natural history objects.16 Stobæus sent Linck samples of specimens that he was seeking: marbles, magnetite, starfish and other marine animals found in Sweden. Linck reciprocated with a large number of fossils (more than 40 pieces in 1732 alone), including an ammonite.17 Exchanges between the two were also facilitated by Stobæus’s students, who passed through Leipzig during their research travels. It was Nils Rosén von Rosenstein who most likely initiated exchanges with Linck on Stobæus’s behalf. In 1728, Rosén von Rosenstein stopped at the museum in Leipzig, trading a parcel of rocks for a collection of Hungarian minerals. He later reported to Stobæus that both Linck and a doctor Becker in Halle had large collections of rocks and fossils and were interested in exchanging objects with Stobæus.18 A few years later, it was Koulas’s turn to deliver a parcel of objects from Stobæus to Linck. On the way back to Lund, he carried a case filled with fossils as well as news about the possibility of purchasing Linck’s entire stone cabinet.19 Stobæus was very excited about this prospect of significantly expanding his geological assemblage, but in the end nothing came of it, as the Linck’s family decided to retain the collections.20

16 Linck, d. J. 1783-87. 17 Fürst 1907, 110–5. 18 Fürst 1907, 126. 19 Fürst 1907, 106–9. 20 Linck d. J. 1783–1787; Krüger 1999.

29 Collecting networks of Kilian Stobæus Conclusions

In these various ways, Stobæus amassed a large collection of animals, plants, fossils, rocks and soils, as well as some ethnographic pieces from Asia and the Americas and Scandinavian archaeological artefacts. His museum was judged by his contemporaries as comparable with the natural history section of the Royal Cabinet in Copen- hagen and was considered a worthy tourist destination.21 The first, hastily made inventory of the collections from 1743 mentions 36 specimens of fish, 14 tortoises, 8 fragments of fish skeletons, 2 snakes, 3 crocodiles, 3 birds-of-paradise, 20 specimens of birds, the penis of a whale, a crocodile, a skeleton of a swan, 35 fragments of mammals, 68 specimens of flora, 6 painted palm leaves and no less than 294 specimens of insects. These plant and animal specimens were augmented by an unspec- ified number of animal skeletons, crustaceans, polished gems and precious stones, seashells, starfishes and conches, fossils, stones, meteorites, metals, minerals and artefacts.22 According to the inventory of the museum completed in 1759, 17 years after Stobæus’s death, the collection included over 3000 objects.23 In all likelihood, the majority of the specimens were inherited from Stobæus. Geological samples – in particular fossils – came to form the largest part of Stobæus’s collections. Well over 1000 specimens were fossils, spanning a wide range of organisms, with diverse types of corals, molluscs (e.g., ammonites, belemnites, bivalves, gastropods) and echinoderms (e.g., sea lilies, sea urchins) being the most numerous. Fossils might have been some of the earliest collected specimens, if the cataloguing system included in the full inventory of the museum conducted in 1759 is indicative of the chronological growth of Stobæus’s collection.24

21 Löwegren 1952, 93–4. 22 Löwegren 1952, 91–3. 23 Lidbeck 1759. 24 Lidbeck 1759; see also Lindskog, Ahlberg & Eriksson, chapter 10 this volume.

30 Part II. Museum Stobæanum

31 Fig. 4.1. The plaque commemorating Stobæus’s donation, ordered by Gyllenborg and painted by Mörth in 1735. The Biological Museum.

32 4. ‘The Brown Art Cabinet’ at Museum Stobæanum. Reconstructing the collection of artificialia within the eighteenth century Museum of Natural History at Lund University

Andreas Manhag

In May 1735, professor Kilian Stobæus officially handed over his personal collection of ‘Curiosis naturalibus atq. artificialibus’ to the Chancellor of Lund University, Count Carl Gyllenborg (1679–1746).1 In doing so, Stobæus laid the foundation for the first museum of the university. Predating this donation however, the university did own a small collection of objects of natural history, ethnography and archaeology, kept in the library. The earliest record of the latter collection is the herbarium of professor Christopher Rostius (1620–87), containing 363 plants, glued on to 250 sheets in a little book in quarto format.2 In 1722, it was mentioned that a few years earlier, the secretary Magnus Rönnou (nobil. Dublar, ca. 1665–1735) had donated ‘some pretty stones and sacrificial knives of stone, as well as an engraved copper plate with other such things’.3 In an undated inventory of the library, there was listed a Sámi drum and several other artefacts.4 In 1730 a ‘Cista Pharmacologica’, a small cabinet containing natural specimens and surgical and anatomical instruments, was acquired from professor Johan J. Döbelius (nobil. von Döbeln, 1674–1743), a collection which he in 1722 had offered for sale to the university, via Stobæus.5

1 Löwegren 1952, 101–2. 2 Löwegren 1952, 77; Arup & Mostadius, chapter 12 this volume. 3 Löwegren 1952, 76–7 (this English translation and all that follow are by the author). The donation was undoubtedly prior to Rönnou’s move to England in 1719. 4 Tegnér 1871, 8–9. Unfortunately, the inventory has not been located, and the identity of these other artefact remains unknown. 5 Löwegren 1952, 76–7.

33 The Brown Art Cabinet Although Museum Stobæanum is now the accepted name of the museum, it actually never received an official name.6 The most commonly used name was in fact ‘Naturalie Kammaren’, and according to the plethora of slightly altered names used during the early years of the museum, it was primarily regarded as a museum of natural history.7 This perception was enhanced by the commemorative plaque, ordered by Gyllenborg in 1735 in celebration of Stobæus’s donation, which hung above the door of the museum (Fig. 4.1).8 According to its gilt text, the collection consisted of treasures from the three kingdoms of nature: ‘jewels, stones, seashells, fishes, insects, snakes, birds, monsters, metals, seeds, roots, fruits and minerals’.9 However, as stated by Stobæus himself, his donation also contained curious objects of art.10 This latter section, which in 1735 must have been rather small, was significantly augmented in 1736 when Gyllenborg donated a larger collection of ethnography and art to the museum.11 Hence, from the very beginning, the collection of the museum was divided in the two main categories of ‘naturalia’ and ‘arti-

6 In 1731 Carl Linnæus poetically described Stobæus’s collection as ’the delightful Museum Stobæa- num’, but this description referred to his private collection (Hildebrand 1934, 148). After the donation, in 1751, he called it ‘Museum Academicum’ (Linnæus 1751, 167). 7 In 1736, Stobæus himself called the collection ‘Academiens Curieuse Naturalie Sambling’, whereas he called the museum ‘Naturalie Cammaren’ (Löwegren 1952, 105–6). In 1739 Döbelius/Leche, called it ‘museum rerum naturalium & artificalium’ (Örneholm & Östlund 2017, 14). In Stobæus’s will of 1741 it was called ‘Musæum rerum naturalium’ (Löwegren 1952, 118). In 1741 a visiting student called it ‘naturalie Kammaren’ (Uggla 1741). In an inventory of 1743, it was called ‘Kongl. Carolinska Acad- emiens Naturalie-Cammare’ (Löwegren 1952, 91, 147), and in 1759, ‘Kongl. Academiens Naturalie Kammare’ (Lidbeck 1759). In two publications from 1765, it was actually called ‘Museo Stobæano Carolino’ (Bring & Darin 1765; Bring & Ross 1765), but in the inventory of 1780 it was called ‘Kongl Acad. Naturalie Samling’. Since the academic publications concerning the museum by Tegnér (1871, 8), Rydbeck (1910, 1) and Hildebrand (1934, 1), it is most commonly known as ‘Museum Stobæanum’. 8 Löwegren 1952, 102. 9 In 1732, Carl Linnæus remarked that Stobæus’s collection of minerals consisted mostly of fossils (Löwegren 1952, 85). According to Linnæus’s autobiography, the collection of Stobæus consisted of ‘stones, herbs and seashells’, and in 1734 he described it as consisting of ‘stones, seashells, birds and herbaria of inserted and glued herbs’ (Löwegren 1952, 84). The herbarium, however, was not included in Stobæus donation to the university in 1735. Instead, it was sold at auction in 1742 after his death (Löwegren 1952, 93; see also Arup & Mostadius, chapter 12 this volume). In 1749, Linnæus described the museum as consisting of ‘to a large part of the collections of the late archiater Kilian Stobæus, mostly Lapideis, except for several beautiful pieces, which were donated by the late Council of the State Count Carl Gyllenborg, during the time when he was Chancellor here’ (Linnæus 1751, 167–8). 10 Stobæus letter to the Chancellor 31 May 1740 (Löwegren 1952, 102), and a letter from the Chan- cellor 20 June 1735 (Löwegren 1952, 102, note 19). 11 Cons. Prot. 11/3 1736 § 7.

34 The Brown Art Cabinet ficialia’, of which the latter was of much less importance, and consequently listed at the end of every eighteenth century museum inventory.12 The idea of separating the artificialia from the naturalia was officially suggested in 1788 by professor Anders J. Retzius (1742–1821).13 However, it was not until 1805, three years after the relocation of the museum to the adjoining new academy building on the university campus Lundagård, that most of the artificialia was finally transferred to the then founded Historical Museum.14 As a consequence of the separation of the artificialia from the naturalia, the museum of natural history had finally been transformed into the present one, which in 1836 was officially renamed the Zoological Museum.15 From 1805 until 1882, the Historical Museum was continuously located in the old university building on the campus, where it constituted a section of the newly furnished lecture hall of the Historical Institution. During the nineteenth century, the Historical Museum’s collection grew significantly, mostly through the addition of prehistorical archaeological finds from Scania. The last ethnographic collections were acquired towards the end of the nineteenth century, and within a few years, the Historical Museum was transformed into a purely archaeological museum, while the older collections of ethnography and art would descend into almost complete oblivion.16

Reconstructing the eighteenth century collection Around 1935, this condition of neglect would change radically, as the head of the Historical Museum, professor Otto Rydbeck, attempted to reconstruct the old collection of artificialia. The new exhibition, which was installed in the attic, was called ‘kuriosakabinettet’ (i.e. ‘the cabinet of curiosities’).17 This was the first time this specific term was used for the collection, but it has remained with it ever since. It must be stressed that even though Rydbeck claimed that this exhibition had been reconstructed with the help of the old inventories, it in fact contained everything within the collections of the Historical Museum which was not archaeology, includ-

12 Museum inventories of 1753, 1759 and 1780. 13 Cons. prot. 14/6 1788 § 11. 14 During most of the nineteenth century, the primary collection of the Historical Museum was the Coin Cabinet of Stobæus, which had been purchased separately by the university from his widow in 1745, and had been under the care of the Professor of History; see Ingvardson & Bjerg, chapter 7 this volume. 15 Löwegren 1968, 50. Presently, the Biological Museum. 16 See also Karsten, chapter 17 this volume. 17 Rydbeck 1943, 104

35 The Brown Art Cabinet ing the large ethnographic additions of the nineteenth century. Rydbeck’s selection of artefacts was kept unaltered in the exhibition called ‘Kilian Stobæus’s Cabinet of Curiosities’, which opened in 2007. Even though some of the artefacts in the exhibition undoubtedly originated from the Museum Stobæanum of the eighteenth century, the overwhelming majority did not.18 The hitherto only proper theoretical attempt to reconstruct the old collection of the Museum Stobæanum was made in 1934 by Bengt Hildebrand. He compared the content of the museum as it was described by Carl F. H. Uggla in 1741 with the museum inventories of 1759 and with those inventories from the first half of the nineteenth century, and then identified several artefact as still present in the collection of the Historical Museum.19 Since then, no other attempt has been made to reconstruct the original collection with the help of the inventories. This would change during the period 2014–18, with the discovery of the long lost North Amer- ican collection of Samuel Hesselius.20 Through a method of utilizing all inventories of the Museum Stobæanum (1753, 1759 and 1780) as well as the Historical Museum (1805/1806, ca. 1814, 1832, 1844 and 185521), it was possible to trace the eight Native American artefacts through all the inventories, including the present, which was begun in 1855. The major problem with this method is the very brief descriptions in the inventories of the eighteenth century, but this is compensated by the fact that the collection of artificialia consisted of only about 100 artefacts from 1759 until 1805. Con- sequently, during the period 2017–19, with the use of this comparative method, it has been possible to trace the remainder of the artefacts that were once part of the artificialia within the Museum Stobæanum.22 Of the 109 artefacts listed in the inventory of 1759, 72 could be positively identified, that is 66 per cent. However, 15 of the artefacts still missing belong to a category of scientific instruments, which were not transferred to the Historical Museum in 1805. These instruments, in total numbering 20 in 1759, ended up in the collection of the Institute of Physics. In other words, not including these instruments, 75 per cent of the original collection has been located.23

18 See also Karsten, chapter 17 this volume. 19 Hildebrand 1934. 20 Manhag & Wittrock 2019; see also Manhag, chapter 5 this volume. 21 Museum inventory 1855. 22 The oldest inventory of 1753 is less detailed and thus less reliable. 23 A part of the artefacts, particularly those made from interesting natural materials, were kept at the Museum of Natural History during the splitting up of the collection in 1805. Some of these were later transferred from the Zoological Museum, the Botanical Institute and the Mineral Cabinet to the Historical Museum in 1845, 1848 and 1865 (Lunds Weckoblad 1846 and 1849; Museum inventory 1855 (LUHM 6529–31)), but unfortunately, the remaining artefacts are nowhere to be found.

36 The Brown Art Cabinet Having identified the majority of the original artefacts within the collection of artificialia, it is now also, for the first time, possible to divide them into separate categories, if we utilize modern definitions. This task could not be carried out using only the information from the eighteenth century inventories, since their very brief information generally does not reveal the provenance, and when it does, the reconstruction has shown that the claimed provenance is often incorrect.24 The following ten categories have been identified:

1. Swedish East India Company. 2. Swedish mission in Pennsylvania. 3. The Guianas. 4. Carolean prisoners of war in Russia. 5. Nordic Arctic. 6. Catholic objects. 7. Classical antiquities. 8. Nordic antiques. 9. Curious European works of art. 10. Scientific instruments and models.

Of these ten categories, nos. 1–6 are of a distinct ethnographic character, whereas 7 and 8 are predominantly archaeological.

Overview of the collection of artificialia

1. Swedish East India Company This category consists of artefacts originating from three different regions and is undoubtedly related to the activities of the Swedish East India Company. From India: six painted palm leaf hand fans (LUHM25 2–7). Among the Indian artefacts might also be included a parchment documenting the inscriptions on Adam’s and Eve’s graves in Sri Lanka, produced by the Dutch J. S. Croppenbergh on 30 October 1734 (LUHM 171). From China: two painted hand fans (LUHM 16–17), a deck of cards (LUHM 21–38), a carved soapstone snuff bottle (LUHM 6530), a printed paper with Chinese characters (one of LUHM 39–42), an ink cake (LUHM 53), three seashell guardian lions (LUHM 6528-29:1–2), a scale (LUHM 13), a painted

24 For instance, among the eight Native American artefacts within the Hesselius collection, according to the inventories and publications of the eighteenth century, two of them were specified to be Chinese, one to be Jewish and one to be East Indian, see Manhag & Wittrock 2019. 25 LUHM refers to inventory no. of Historical Museum at Lund University.

37 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.2. Ceramic idol, depicting a Chinese monk nicknamed the laughing or fat Buddha (Budai in Chinese and Hotei in Japanese), probably from Japan but collected in Canton in 1735. LUHM 47. Photo: Gunnar Menander. and framed silk cloth (LUHM 44), and five pairs of shoes (LUHM 56, 59–60; 28089:1–2). From Japan: a ceramic idol of Hotei/Budai (LUHM 47; Fig. 4.2), a painted selenite and ivory hand fan (LUHM 19), a lacquer and bone covered case with knife, three chopsticks, knife and fork, file and ruler (LUHM 10), a tortoise shell covered case with knife and chopsticks (LUHM 11), and a false hand fan sheath with knife (LUHM 20). The fact that these artefacts are evidently Japanese may seem a bit odd, considering that the ships of the company were only allowed to enter Canton. Most likely they had been exported to Canton, and considering the West- ern motif of the fan, probably manufactured for the European market. Originally, this collection also included a lifelike Cantonese clay sculpture of Col- in Campbell (1686–1757), who sailed as supercargo on the first expedition between 9 February 1732 and 27 August 1733 as well as on the third expedition on 25 February 1735–31 July 1736, both with the destination Canton.26 Unfortunately, the sculpture was broken in 1780 and disappeared from the inventories after 1844, but it proves that some, if not all, of these artefacts did indeed originate from the Swedish East India Company.27 Several of the artefacts, such as the shoes, the fans, the knives and the cards, were listed by Uggla already in 1741, which means that they must have arrived at the museum prior to that year.

26 He was also supercargo on the sixth expedition December 1737–13 July 1739. 27 Five such sculptures of contemporary Danish captains and supercargos are to be found at the National Museum of Denmark (Hornby 1980, 173–80).

38 The Brown Art Cabinet It is probable that most of the ‘East Indian’ artefacts originated from Gyllenborg, who on 3 November 1736 donated a ‘chest with East- and West Indian natural specimens’ to the university.28 However, some of them were evidently donated by Sto- bæus. In a letter to him, dated 8 September 1736, Carl C. Treutiger, who seemed to have been a member of the third expedition on 25 February 1735 - 31 July 1736, mentions that he has sent Stobæus some ‘East Indian’ objects of natural history, as well as a Chinese scale, a Chinese yardstick, and a book containing valuable Chinese paper, all obtained in Canton and on Java.29 Treutiger also mentions that Gyllenborg had previously requested objects from the supercargos of the East India Company, to be sent to Lund University.30

2. Swedish mission in Pennsylvania The discovery of this particular collection, which was assembled by the pastor of the Swedish parishes of Pennsylvania between 1719 and 1731, has been treated thorough- ly by Manhag & Wittrock.31 The reconstruction of said collection identified eight Native American artefacts: a female idol pendant made of conch shell (LUHM 173), a finger woven buffalo hair and glass bead garter (LUHM 128), a double woven and lidded river cane basket (LUHM 51), a wooden effigy spoon depicting a rattlesnake on the handle (LUHM 488 ; Fig. 4.3), 14 white shell wampum beads (LUHM 285), a full grooved stone axe (LUHM 2261), a stone adze (LUHM 1044), as well as a stone arrowhead (LUHM 2452). According to the inventory list of the collection, written by Hesselius himself, the artefacts were signed over to Gyllenborg on 29 July 1736, who donated it to Lund University, where it arrived on 6 November 1736.32 With all probability, it was included in Gyllenborg’s larger donation of ‘East- and West Indian natural specimens’, which had arrived in Malmö on 3 November 1736.33 As an ethnographic collection of Native North American artefacts, it is actually one of the oldest and largest of its kind in the world. As such, it may be regarded as the perhaps most valuable part of the entire collection of the reconstructed Museum Stobæanum.

28 ‘… lådan med Ost- och Wäst-Indiska Naturalier …’, Cons. prot. 3/11 1736 § 7. 29 See also Naum, chapter 2 and Mostadius, chapter 11 this volume. 30 Fürst 1907, 135–6. 31 Manhag & Wittrock 2019; see also Manhag, chapter 5 this volume. 32 A note on the inventory list which accompanied the Hesselius collection specified that it arrived on that date, see Hesselius 1736b; Manhag & Wittrock 2019, 239–40. 33 Cons. prot. 3/11 1736 § 7. During this period, the term ‘the West Indies’ referred to the Americas in its entirety.

39 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.3. Wooden effigy spoon from Pennsylvania depicting a rattlesnake on the handle, collected between 1719 and 1731. LUHM 488. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

3. The Guianas

The comparatively large collection of South American artefacts, all probably originating from the Guianas, actually consists of two separate parts. The older set of objects, which was present at the museum in the inventories of 1753, 1759 and 1780, consists of a piece of poisonous bread with a written description (LUHM 6533), a bow of red wood (LUHM 120 or 121), three arrows (three of LUHM 122, 123, 125, 126), and probably a war club of brown Brazilian bloodwood (LUHM 106).34 In the 1805/1806 inventory, further artefacts had been added: a bow of red wood (LUHM 120 or 121), an arrow (one of LUHM 122, 123, 125, 126; Fig. 4.4), a cap made from the spathe of Manicaria saccifera (LUHM 108), a wooden bladed war club (LUHM 107), and a female glass-beaded apron (LUHM 112). Apart from these Guianese artefacts, between 1780 and 1805, the museum collection had also been augmented with a knife with a braided sheath (LUHM 3227) and a braided necklace (LUHM 103). It has not been possible to establish the provenance of these two artefacts. As to the origin of the older Guianese artefacts, provided that they had not been acquired from a Dutch source, they may possibly have derived from the failed Swed- ish colonial experiment in the Guianas. It was a Dutch Jew, Simon Abraham, who managed to convince Albrekt Lindcreutz (1674–1744), Jonas Alström (1685–1761) and Henric König (1686–1736) of the East India Company to launch a West Indian expedition.35 On 9 April 1732, Captain Laurentz Brander and the ship For-

34 See Feest, chapter 14 this volume. 35 Paulin 1951, 44–7.

40 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.4. Iron harpoon pointed fishing arrow from the Guianas. LUHM 125. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

tuna arrived at the territory of the Barima River, a tributary of the Orinoco, with the plan of turning it into a Swedish colony. There, Brander first encountered the Arawaks, who led him to the Caribs. On 16 April, he received a ‘Tijgerkatt’ (probably a smaller, spotted type of cat, such as ocelot, oncilla or margay), which however died on the journey. The next day he received gifts of cassava bread and some fruit. In connection with his departure on 18 April, he received gifts intended to be presented to the Swedish king: a cap or a hat, a necklace, a wooden war club and a bow with three arrows.36 According to Brander’s travel journal, after returning to Gothenburg on 29 August 1732, but before his signing of the journal on 11 October, the gifts were handed over to Alström.37 Considering that the older collection of artefacts from the Guianas were probably donated by Gyllenborg in 1736, as part of his ‘chest with East- and West Indian natural specimens’, and considering Gyllenborg’s close connections with both the East India Company and King Frederick I, it cannot be ruled out that the royal gifts

36 The phrase reads ‘en indiansk mössa eller hatt, en ringkrage, ett swärd af träd och en båge med tre pijlar’ (Paulin 1951, 69). 37 ‘De forne specifierade presenter af Indianerna iämte några stenar, som liknades till mineralier, så ock en stor kristallsten hafwer iag till Herr Consul Ahlström öfwerlämnat’. According to Axel Paulin (1951, 80), Simon Abraham is supposed to have taken the gifts and delivered them, together with a copy of a report, to King Frederick I by the end of the month. However, no such report or collection has ever been registered. Paulin also thought that the war club may have been identical to one found in 1943 among wood turning tools at Chinese Pavilion at Drottningholm in Stockholm. The club in question is undoubtedly from the Guianas, but its shape is actually of a younger type than would be expected of a club collected in 1732 (Paulin 1951, 80–1).

41 The Brown Art Cabinet of Brander actually may have ended up in Lund. Some of the artefacts mentioned by Brander do in fact correspond to those listed in the eighteenth century museum inventories: the poisonous cassava bread, the bow with the three arrows, as well as the wooden war club. Originally, there was also a braided ‘Indian’ hat listed in the older museum inventories (unfortunately destroyed in the nineteenth century), which corresponds to one of the gifts. At the Historical Museum, a club from the Guianas (LUHM 106), belonging to an older type, was transferred from the Zoo- logical Museum in 1845, described as ‘An Indian weapon of wood with several decorations’. The club was added to the inventory of 1844, with the information that it had been kept at the Zoological Museum for a long time. In 1839, it was described as ‘one little war club – laying among the collection of wood’ at the Zoological Museum. Interestingly enough, among the ‘vegetabilia’ in the inventory of 1759, under number 16, was listed ‘Arboris Brasilianæ peticula’, and in the inventory of 1780 was listed ‘Hæmatoxylon brun brasilja’, the latter of which refers to a piece of brown bloodwood tree. The species Hæmatoxylon corresponds to the wood of one of the Guianese war clubs in the Ashmolean Museum.38 Thus it is possible that these two eighteen century inventory entries actually refer to the war club LUHM 106, possibly given to Brander by the Caribs in 1732. As to the younger collection of artefacts from the Guianas, they were added to the museum sometime between the writing of the inventories of 1780 and 1805/1806. These Guianese items, as well as a knife and a necklace of uncertain origin, were the only ethnographic objects to be added to the museum during this 25-year period. The only reference to objects from South America being added to the museum during this period is a collection of amphibians in alcohol from Suriname, which were bought by Retzius in the 1770s, as well as a little collection of insects acquired from the Linnæan apostle Daniel Rolander (1723–93).39 Rolander, who explored Suriname from 1755 to 1756, but fell from Linnæus’s grace upon his return, lived in Copenhagen from the 1760s. Soon thereafter, he moved to Lund. With the support of the professor of natural history at Lund University, Eric G. Lidbeck, he remained there until his death in 1793. Considering these latter circumstances, it is very likely that the younger Guianese artefacts of the Museum originated from Rolander’s journey to Suriname, and that they were either purchased from him whilst he lived, or from the estate following his death. In his travel journal, Rolander specifically described the female aprons made of colourful glass beads.40 He also received as a gift a bow with three arrows.41

38 Ostapkowicz et al. 2018, 187–218. 39 Löwegren 1952, 142. 40 Rolander 2008, 1320–1. 41 Rolander 2008, 1328–9.

42 The Brown Art Cabinet 4. Carolean prisoners of war in Russia

Several artefacts within the collection of Museum Stobæanum originate from an Eastern European context: a painted wooden icon travel altar (LUHM 316), a printed silk antimins (LUHM 3184; Fig. 4.5), both displaying Cyrillic letters, and two turned burl wood bowls (LUHM 504 and 506). A burl wood drinking bowl (LUHM 489) and a decorated spoon (LUHM 487) were added between 1763 and 1780, and are probably also of Eastern European origin. Most interesting of all these artefacts are perhaps the three blue sheets with Tibetan script: two larger with gilded script and one smaller with white script (LUHM 164–66). These belong to a larger group of well-known Tibetan Buddhist Kanjur texts from the sixteenth century, taken from the monastery of Ablai Kayid near Semey in present northeast Kazakhstan, founded in 1657 by the Oirat prince Ablai Tayiji. In Sweden, apart from in Lund, such sheets are found in libraries and museums in Stockholm, Linköping and in Uppsala. In Germany, they are found in Wolfenbüttel and in Halle.

Fig. 4.5. Silk antimins from the Principality of Moldova, probably collected in 1709. LUHM 3184. Text translated by Elisabeth Löfstrand, Stockholm University. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

43 The Brown Art Cabinet Philip J. von Strahlenberg (1676–1747), who was a prisoner of war between 1709 and 1723, in his description of Siberia and Great Tartary of 1730, mentions that he himself had donated 10 or 12 such black or blue papers with printed gold and silver letters, to the museums of good friends.42According to the work of Gerhard F. Müller from 1747, Swedish Carolean soldiers brought back a couple of chests with manuscripts from a monastery in Semey.43 Concerning the collection at Museum Stobæanum, there is some evidence to indicate von Strahlenberg’s personal connection to these artefacts in Lund. First of all, the Orthodox silk antimins, printed with texts in Church Slavonic, specify that it was signed by the metropolitan Ghedeon of Suceava (in office in 1708–22), located in the Principality of Moldova. As it happens, following the defeat at Bender, during a reconnaissance under the command of Axel Gyllenkrook, von Strahlenberg was captured by the Russians on 24 Septem- ber 1709 in the city of Chernivtsi, at the River Prut, then located within the principality. From there he was marched to Moscow, Kirov and finally to the destination of Tobolsk.44 According to his co-captive, Captain Curt von Wreech, von Strahlen- berg had with him books by the pietists Johann Arndt and August Francke from Halle, which probably explains how similar Kanjur texts ended up in the famous Museum of Natural History at Franckesche Stiftungen in Halle. The second indication that the collection is probably connected with von Strahlenberg is that in the appendix of the catalogue of the library of the deceased Stobæus, printed in 1742, there is a list of materials other than books, including von Strahlenbergs map of Siberia.45 Here we can note that some of the artefacts in the Museum of Natural History at the Franckesche Stiftungen in Halle are more or less identical to those housed in Lund. More specifically, these include the above-mentioned Kanjur texts, the turned burl wood bowls, the pointed burl wood drinking bowl, the carved wooden spoon, and the gilded leather bowl (LUHM 505).

5. Nordic Arctic There are two artefacts in the collection which are described in the inventories as Sámi: a coin purse of brown chamois leather with white-laquered leather straps (LUHM 141), and a drum with rings and drumstick (LUHM 144; Fig. 4.6). An almost identical purse is kept in the Augsburg Art Cabinet at Uppsala University, which according to their interpretation is dated to the sixteenth century and origi-

42 von Strahlenberg 1730, 312. 43 Wahlquist 2002, 28–9. 44 Ehrensvärd 2007–11. 45 Catalogue of Stobæus’s library 1742.

44 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.6. Wooden and leather ceremonial bowl drum from northern Lapland or Finnmark. LUHM 144. Photo: Gunnar Menander. nates from Germany.46 The ceremonial shamanic bowl drum, on the other hand, is undoubtedly Sámi, more specifically belonging to the rare northern Sámi type (seven known specimens), originating from northern Lapland or Finnmark. According to an undated inventory of the university library, estimated to approximately 1730, the drum was kept there already prior to the establishment of the museum in 1735.47 The largest artefact within the entire collection of artificialia is also one of the most intriguing, a six meter long kayak, with an anorak, and the head of a winged kayak harpoon attached to a bladder (LUHM 134). No information whatsoever regarding its provenance has been found, but according to the earliest descriptions of the museum, from 1741 by Magnus von Celse and Abraham Bäck, the kayak hung in the hallway outside the museum, with an anorak. There is never any mention of an oar, which is somewhat strange. Obviously, the kayak is from Greenland, in other words it originates from a Danish context. It is possible that the artefacts are connected with the Greenlandic colonial exhibition in Copenhagen in 1724, arranged by ‘Det Bergen Grønlandske Compagnie’. This celebration of the colonization of Greenland (a process which begun in 1721 with the foundation of the Hope Colony by the missionary Hans Egede), ended with a procession in which the Inuits Poq and Qiperoq were the main

46 Josefsson 2014, 27. 47 Tegnér 1871, 8–9.

45 The Brown Art Cabinet feature, paddling through the Frederiksholms Kanal, shooting their bird darts at sitting ducks.48 It is noteworthy that in the large Greenlandic collection at the National Mu- seum of Denmark, Copenhagen, there are six double-bladed oars for kayaks, but no kayaks. Also, all four of the winged kayak harpoons housed in the National Museum are missing their harpoon heads, throwing boards and hunting lines with bladder.49 The kayak in Lund, on the other hand, is missing the oar, whereas the harpoon head with line and bladder is missing the shaft – both are items which originally must have been part of the equipment. We might assume, therefore, that one of the oars and one of the harpoon shafts in Copenhagen may originally have been part of the equipment belonging to the kayak in Lund.

6. Catholic objects Some of the artefacts within this category seem to be female monastic products from the central or southern areas of the Holy Roman Empire. According to the diary of Uggla in 1741 there was ‘A box in which lay some silk caps with sewn on biblical histories, coloured grey and white, which the nuns have manufactured, ditto such a band which the Pope sends to princesses which are in child labour, coloured pale red with written Italian letters’. The blue silk band (LUHM 347) is actually a so- called ‘Holy Length’, printed red with roses, an IHS monogram, and a text reading ‘ALT DELLA B. V. DI LORETO CINTVRA IL CAPO ALT DEL BAM’. This probably refers to the measure of a holy image from a St. Maria Loreto convent, such as the ones in Salzburg, Austria, or Prague, Bohemia. As stated in 1741, such ‘Holy Lengths’ were used by women in connection with childbirth. The two linen caps (LUHM 303–4) called ‘Fraisenhauben’, were used in connection with the birth or death of infants. Judging from the copper printed motifs on them, one showing the Holy House of Loreto, the other a Madonna, probably Maria Loreto, the caps probably also originated from a St. Maria Loreto convent. The group of Catholic objects includes also a scapular with the monograms of Jesus and Mary (LUHM 301–2; Fig. 4.7), two reliquary medallions (LUHM 398–99), a carved wooden relief depicting Saint Joseph with Infant Jesus (LUHM 305), an engraved, painted and framed stone tablet depicting the resurrection of Jesus (LUHM 3179), and four rosaries (LUHM 282–85). Of the rosaries, one was originally fitted with 60 small Ave Maria beads, identifying it as a six-decade Brigittine rosary, which was particularly common in Southern Germany, where the main monastery of the order had been founded in Altomünster in 1488.

48 Rosing 1968, 178–9; Meldgaard 1980, 1–2, 13–4. 49 Meldgaard 1980, 6.

46 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.7. Scapular with the monograms of Mary and Jesus. LUHM 301-302. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

7. Classical antiquities

The most prestigious artefact within the entire eighteenth century museum collection was undoubtedly the Egyptian mummy in its wooden coffin (LUHM 28079), which however, because of its human content, was sorted into the category of naturalia in the inventories between 1753 and 1780.50 The mummy was looted in 1735 and smuggled from Saqqara in Ottoman Egypt by the Swedish envoys Baron Carl F. von Höpken and Edvard Carleson.51 Among all the items in the museum, this was the only one which was honoured with a plaque commemorating its origin and donation (LUHM 28080, presently missing). Three years after being donated by Gyllenborg in 1736, the medical dissertation De mumia Aegyptiaca was published in 1739, with professor Döbelius as preses and with the student Johan Leche as re- spondent. The mummy was described in great detail, especially its cranium, which had been severed from the body. It was lacking both jaw bones, the nasal bone, ethmoid bone and the eye sockets, offering a clear visibility of the back of the cra-

50 See Östlund, chapter 6 this volume. 51 It has been assumed that von Höpken and Carleson made their journey to Egypt in 1736 (Ahl- ström et al. 1978, 19; Örenholm & Östlund 2017, 7). However, according to the description of the journey, which was addressed and sent to Gyllenborg, the trip from Cairo to Saqqara and back took place between 26 and 20 August, whereas the description itself was signed on 16/27 April 1736. Thus, the journey must have been made in 1735.

47 The Brown Art Cabinet nium, which was filled with ‘bitumen’.52 According to Uggla’s diary of 1741 as well, the head of the mummy was described to be separated.53 According to the diaries of von Celse and Bäck, the ‘large and complete’ mummy was laying in its wooden coffin. In 1748, the coffin was once again described as ‘laying’, thus indicating that it was never exhibited in an erect position. It appears that it was the mummy proper that attracted the greatest interest, not the coffin. This is not only indicated by the dissertation from 1739, but also by the now somewhat comic fact that in the inventory of 1759, the mummy was regarded as ‘naturalia’, listed as the second object in the inventory: ‘Animalia, Mammalia, I. Primates, Homo, 2. Hominis cadaver inunctum velconditum, S: Mumia Aegyptiaca’. The mummy is radiocarbon dated to 1950–20 BC (plus 100 and minus 200 years). The sarcophagus, on the other hand, is dated to 640–500 BC (plus 95 and minus 50 years). This, together with the curious fact that the head seem to have been separated from the beginning, is most likely related to the circumstances surrounding the acquisition of the mummy in 1735. Von Höpken and Carleson observed that intact mummies were exceedingly rare, since the local Arabs normally removed the corpses from the coffins in order to sell them to Westerners in Cairo. Following a great economic compensation from the envoys, the Arabs claimed to have found an intact specimen. They were taken to a subterranean burial chamber and there, in an elevated room in the wall, was the sarcophagus.54 Obviously, the allegedly intact mummy was a counterfeit, or rather a compilation of genuine components. Furthermore, the feet had been sawed off, evidently to allow the mummy to fit into a sarcophagus that was too short.55 At some point at the museum, the separated head of the mummy was lost. In the inventory of 1780, the mummy was listed as ‘No 3. Hominis Cadaver inunctum s. Mumia Aegyptiaca’, but further down is listed ‘No 5. Cranium Hominis Adulti.’ It is quite possible that this latter cranium was in fact the one belonging to the mummy. According to the dissertation of 1739, the skull does not seem to have had any skin or hair; thus, it was probably simply a fragmented cranium filled with resin. As it happens, in the collection of the Anatomical Institute, which was terminated in 1995 and has since been kept at the Historical Museum, there is a rather unique cranium (inv. nr. 30700:B:I:059). Originally, it was not part of the Anatomical Institute, but the Zoological Museum marked it as being of unknown provenance in 1900, when it was given the inventory number 16. Not only is it filled with resin, it precisely matches the anatomical description of the skull of the mummy from 1739.

52 Örneholm & Östlund 2017, 29–30, 39. 53 Uggla 1741. 54 Örnehom & Östlund 2017, 52–61. 55 Ahlström et al. 1978, 37–8.

48 The Brown Art Cabinet Connected to this highly prestigious artefact are two copper idols depicting Osiris and Horus the Younger (LUHM 230–1), mentioned as ‘naked copper idols’ in the dissertation of 1739, also donated by Gyllen- borg.56 According to the inventories of 1753, 1759 and 1780, they lay in the sarcophagus upon its arrival in Lund.57 In the latter inventory, in contrast to the mummy, they are listed as ‘Antiquer’. The ‘Antiquity section’ of 1780 also lists a sculptured marble female figure (LUHM 408), although probably not a true classical antiquity. The same applies to a carved onyx gem, according to the inventories depicting Cleopatra (LUHM 393; Fig. 4.8), as well as an agate gem, depicting the triumph of Sile- nus (LUHM 394:2), both of which were list- Fig. 4.8. Onyx cameo gem, allegedly ed among naturalia until 1780. The ceramic depicting Cleopatra. LUHM 393. oil lamp (LUHM 244), however, is definite- Photo: Gunnar Menander. ly a genuine Roman antiquity.

8. Nordic antiques Before his departure for England Rönnou donated as mentioned some stones, sacrificial knives and the engraved copper plate of such objects. It is very possible that they are linked to one of the two copper engravings which were used in Stobæus’s publication Miolner Hamar Thors from 1738 (‘Tabula I’ and ‘Tabula II’; Fig. 4.9). On plate 1 is shown a flint knife (‘culter’), actually a dagger, found in Mellan-Gre- vie, close to Malmö, in 1690 (LUHM 2288), as well as a flint knife (‘culter’), actually a spearhead, found in Stora Råby close to Lund in 1713 (LUHM 28664:1). On plate 2 a stone battle axe is described as originating from Åhus (LUHM 2242), a flint

56 Örneholm & Östlund 2017, 41. 57 According to Hildebrand, they were probably not identical to those two described and depicted in Ebbe Bring’s and Roos’s dissertation from 1765, since it does not otherwise mention the mummy (Hildebrand 1934, 152). However, this can by no means be regarded as proof. In any event, according to the information concerning two copper or bronze idols in the dissertations of 1739 and 1765, as well as the museum inventories from 1753 to 1805/1806, there can be no doubt that they are indeed the same.

49 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.9. Copper engraving depicting archaeological artefacts from Scania and Rügen. Plate 2 from Stobæus’s [Miolner hamar Thors], seu ceraunii betulique lapides disputatione historica illustrati (1738). Photo: Lund University Library. dagger (‘cultellus’), actually a projectile point, is described as coming from Rügen in Germany (probably LUHM 1182), and a flint stone axe is described as coming from the hundred of Skytt in Scania. The provenance of the stone battle axe from Åhus is very interesting, since Rönnou was born in Åhus, where his father was famous for hiding the Swedish King Charles XI in the chimney of his residence. Rönnou also undertook a runologic journey through Scania in 1716. In other words, it is very probable that plate 2 in Stobæus publication is connected to the plate donated by Rönnou,58 and that at least the battle axe, but probably also the other artefacts on the plates, were identical to his ‘pretty stones and sacrificial knives’. Be that as it may, according to Uggla’s travel journal of 1741, which is the earliest description of the cabinet containing artificialia, there is no mention of any stone tools. At the end of the description of the contents of the artificialia cabinet, however, he mentioned dendrites, fossils, petrified wood, and some curiously shaped

58 The two copper engravings are quite different in quality. Plate 1 is considerably better and is also signed ‘T: L: F. Sc.’, that is T. L. F. Sculpsit (cut by). On the top of the engraving ‘T: I:’, for Tabula I, has been added at a later stage. Plate 2, which has a decoratively engraved frame, is of much cruder quality. The signature has been scratched out and ‘T: II:’, for Tabula II, on the top of the engraving, has been added later, on a surface which has also been scratched out. In other words, the engravings appear to be older than the publication in which they appear and have been made by two different engravers.

50 The Brown Art Cabinet stones, laying in the drawers.59 In the oldest inventories of 1753 and 1759, the stone tools are listed in the category ‘Lapides arte elaborati’, at the very end of the naturalia section, immediately before the artificialia section. In the inventory of 1780, however, they are listed in the section ‘Historical and Art- Cabinet’, which by then had replaced the term artificialia. Thus originally, the stone tools seem to have been regarded as something between nature and culture, corresponding to Stobæus’s academic discussion regarding the old belief that together with fossilized belemnites, they were naturally produced thunderstones. In the ‘Antique’ section of the inventory of 1780 is also found a stone mould engraved with the coat of arms of Lund, dated to 1615 (LUHM 16079), which was described by Stobæus in 1741.60 Prior to 1780, it had also been listed among naturalia. As part of the Nordic antiques, we must also include a medieval lead reliquary box, found in the church of Ingelstorp in southeastern Scania (LUHM 28193). Ac- cording to a written note, it contains relics of the 11,000 virgins, a yellowish piece of cloth, as well as a small parchment with a fainted drawing of the Crucifixion. The reliquary, which is recorded in the oldest inventory of 1753, is actually the oldest find of medieval church archaeology at the Historical Museum, a category which since has developed into one of its main collections. In the three inventories of the eighteenth century, two runic calendars are recorded in the collection. In 1805/1806, there was only one, which was specified to be ‘square’, that is, not of the younger round type. Since then, the number of such calendars at the Historical Museum has risen to 43. Which of these are the original one/ones is very difficult to determine. However there a few calendars in the collection that may be considered to be of interest. The most prominent is LUHM 3263, which has a barely readable inscription, carrying the name Werelius and the year 1735, perhaps referring to professor Olof Werelius (1618–82), who published a book about runes in 1675. It is also possible that the two runic calendars in the inventory were related to the collection of Stobæus. According to the inventory of his library from 1742, he possessed a work concerning runic calendars, Tabula Runica from 1697 by Andreas Lundelius (d. 1720).61 In other words, Stobæus displayed some interest in runic calendars; of course, so did many other scholars.

59 Uggla 1741. 60 Stobæus 1741a, 59–60. 61 Stobæus 1742 (according to a handwritten note dated to 16 October 1742); Stenström 1929, 49.

51 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.10. Ivory and rhinoceros horn cup, allegedly turned by the imprisoned field marshal Count Stenbock between 1713 and 1717. LUHM 403. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

9. Curious European works of art

This category contains a wide range of artefacts, all probably manufactured in West- ern Europe, and several specifically described as Dutch in the inventories. Most interesting are perhaps those four that were claimed to have been made by the Swedish field marshal Count Magnus Stenbock (1665–1717), who during his Danish captivity (1713–17) is supposed to have occupied himself with the manufacture of miniatures, of which several exist in various collections. Those in Lund consist of a turned ivory and rhinoceros horn cup (LUHM 403 and 401; Fig. 4.10), a turned wooden spiral (LUHM 470), a turned ivory cup (LUHM 406), and a pair of miniature leather shoes (LUHM 471). The latter two artefacts were donated in 1763. The other identifiable Nordic curiosities are an engraved stone epigram of one King Frederick of Denmark (LUHM 28078), a yeast wreath (without number), and four framed depictions of the classical elements in various materials, produced by Leche (LUHM 28076). The remaining items in this category consist of a turned and gilded ivory cup (LUHM 402), two sets of miniature ivory bowling games (LUHM 401), originally stored in two ivory boxes (LUHM 411 and 407), four snuff boxes of ivory and wood, two of which are highly obscene (LUHM 426, 427, 515 and 516), a carved wooden box (LUHM 472) containing a golden cart (LUHM 469), an ivory crucifix (LUHM 334), an ebony and ivory crucifix (LUHM 335), a pair of so-called ‘chickenskin’ gloves fitted in a walnut case (LUHM 503), a carved walnut (LUHM 391), 13 ‘Chinese boxes’ (LUHM 415), a painted portrait with various costumes on selenite (LUHM 496), an amber medallion with ivory profile images (LUHM 397), an amber and lead shirt stud (LUHM 396), a carved amber gem (LUHM 395:1), a carved wooden sheath by one van Moise dated to 1597 once owned by Simon Hörling (1691–1741) (LUHM 473), and an agate snuff box, donated in 176262 (LUHM 421).

62 Stobæus 1742 (according to a handwritten note dated to 16 October 1742); Stenström 1929, 49.

52 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.11. Wooden model for a plate printing press made by Johan Leche in 1738. Fysicum 402. Pho- to: Gunnar Menander.

10. Scientific instruments and models This category, which was transferred to the Institute of Physics in connection with the partition of the collection at the beginning of the nineteenth century, consists of an amber and bone hydrometer (Fysicum 406), three glass Cartesian divers (Fysicum 410), an ivory compass and sundial (Fysicum 429), a bone optical com- pendium containing telescope, flea-glass microscope and polyprism (Fysicum 414), and a wooden model for a printing press, manufactured by Leche in 1738 (Fysicum 402; Fig. 4.11).

Exhibition rooms and cabinets Through pure coincidence, it was the donation of an anatomical theatre by the Swed- ish Queen Ulrika Eleonora in 1733, fitted in the former ‘Auditorium majus’ of the university building between 19 June 1734 and January 1735, which provided the necessary space for a new instrument chamber as well as a museum of natural history. Since the square theatre was fitted in a rectangular room, this resulted in an extra space at the western end, which could then be transformed into two smaller rooms.63 According to Carl Hårleman’s original exhibition plans from 1733 (Fig. 4.12), the latter museum, ‘Promptuarium rerum natur: et curios’, was planned to be located in

63 Löwegren 1952, 103.

53 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.12. Hårleman’s initial floor plan (1735). The museum of natural history and its adjoining gallery was planned to be in the northern part. Lund University Archive.

Fig. 4.13. Nettelbladt’s floor plan, from his Swedische Bibliothec, vol. 5, 1736. ‘I. der Eingang’, ‘K. das Theatrum Anatomicum & Physicum’, ‘L. Armamentarium Physico-Medichanicum’, ‘M. Promptuarium rerum Naturalium’, ‘k.k. die Gallerie vor dem Theatro al sein Anhang vom promptuario.’

54 The Brown Art Cabinet the northern back room, with a gallery behind and underneath the adjoining theatre, described as a ‘Gallery behind the amphitheatre for storing of the various specimens, to be hidden behind glass doors which covers the cabinets underneath the theatre’.64 However, this was only a suggestion, and the distribution of the two rooms was not definitely settled. In the end, Stobæus allowed his colleague, professor Daniel Menlös (1699–1743), to choose the northern room and northern gallery for his collection of physical instruments.65 Thus, according to the floor plan of Christian Nettelbladt (nobil. von Nettelbla, 1696–1775), in 1736, Stobæus’s ‘Promptuarium rerum Natura- lium’ was located in the southern room, with the southern gallery in front of the anatomical theatre as an appendix to the ‘promtuario’ (Fig. 4.13).66 As to the colour scheme, the doors and window frames were painted pearl grey, the ceiling white, in the likeness of plaster, and the walls marbled in light grey.67 In August 1736, Stobæus ordered two cabinets, fitted with drawers, for the museum.68 These are most probably identical to those, which are visible on Carl Mörth’s portrait of Stobæus from 1737, one with a seashell pyramid on the top, the other with a seashell and stone grotto (Fig. 4.14).69 According to the diaries of Uggla, von Celse and Bäck from 174170, as well as the inventory of 1780, it appears that the pyramid adorned the cabinet containing seashells, in 1780 called ‘the old shell cabinet’, whereas the grotto adorned the cabinet containing the artificialia, which also contained drawers with dendrites and fossils, in 1780 called ‘the brown art cabinet’. Judging from contemporary cabinets used in museums, the drawers would have been located at the bottom, underneath two large doors. According to the diaries from 1741, the six-meter long kayak, with its anorak, hung from the ceiling in the entrance hallway to the east of the theatre. Above the door of the museum was the commemorative plaque from 1735. Inside were cabinets for the insects, seashells, fossils, minerals and, of course, the artificialia. The mummy lay on the floor, though it was not specified in which room. In the adjoining gallery in the theatre stood a large cabinet containing bottled wet zoological specimens, mostly from Gyllenborg but some from Stobæus. From the ceiling in both the museum and the theatre hung animals and birds, including a large crocodile, collected in Egypt in 1716 by Bishop Henric Benzelius (1689–1758), who also donated it.71

64 Hårleman nd. 65 Löwegren 1952, 104. 66 Gierow 1957, 30. 67 Löwegren 1952, 103–4. 68 Cons. prot. 27/8 1736 § 7; Löwegren 1952, 107, 134. 69 See also Naum, chapter 2, Fig. 2.1 this volume. 70 See also Mostadius, chapter 11 and Karsten, chapter 17. 71 Löwegren 1952, 83–4; Uggla 1741; see also Johansson Dahre, chapter 8 this volume.

55 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.14. Details from Stobæus’s portrait by Mörth 1737 (Lund University Art Collection).To the left the shell cabinet with its seashell pyramid, to the right the art cabinet with its seashell and stone grotto. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

The term ‘artificialia’, used in the inventory of 1759, was probably also the term for that specific collection during the lifetime of Stobæus, since it was used in an inventory from 1743, immediately after his death.72 As far as can be deduced from the order of the artefacts mentioned in Uggla’s diary of 1741, the small collection of artificialia was probably not divided into further categories, since they were not presented in any sort of recognisable order. If Uggla had followed a system in describing the artefacts, which seems probable since he ends the description of the cabinet by describing the stones found in the lower drawers, it appears that at this early stage, the Chinese

72 Löwegren 1952, 91, 147. The six Indian sun fans (LUHM 2–7), however, were listed in a separate box, possibly because of their large size. In 1753, they were listed among naturalia, but in 1759 among artificialia.

56 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.15. Floor plan from 1745. Riksarkivet, Stockholm. objects were randomly mixed with European miniature art, Orthodox and Catholic Christian artefacts and scientific instruments. Furthermore, several objects had already acquired false provenances, such as the Japanese case containing chopsticks, knife and fork, file and ruler (LUHM 10), which was described as Turkish, and the Moldovan antimins (LUHM 3184), which was described as Tartar. Soon after the death of Stobæus on 17 February 1742, the museum was to be sealed off for half a year.73 It was feared that Denmark might launch a military attack, and as a consequence, on 6 September, the Chancellor ordered preparations for the evacuation of the collection of the museum. Three weeks later, an order was issued to pack the collection in boxes and compile a brief inventory, which is the one mentioned above from 1743. Although the attack never came, the boxes remained closed until 6 March 1744, when the Chancellor ordered them to be unpacked.74 By then, the collection of physical instruments, which had previously occupied the northern room, had been relocated. Thus, the museum of natural history was able to expand (Fig. 4.15). According to a description from 1748, the museum occupied three rooms. The new one was fitted with scaffolds containing 72 boxes of stones. Animals and fishes were hung in the ceiling, and instead of curtains, vegetables were hung along the windows.75 The second and original room contained four larger cabinets as well

73 Löwegren 1952, 107–8. 74 Löwegren 1952, 147–8. 75 See also Arup & Mostadius, chapter 12 this volume.

57 The Brown Art Cabinet

Fig. 4.16. Floor plan after 1767, L signifies the museum, K the library (from Arvid Leide’s Akademi- skt 1700-tal, 1971, p. 74). as Döbelius’s little medical cabinet. In the third room, which was the southern gallery, lay the mummy, next to the large cabinet containing wet specimens.76 As evident from the inventories of 1753, 1759 and 1780 and 1805/1806, the confusion concerning the objects’ character and provenance, already existent during the lifetime of Stobæus, further increased during the course of the century. It appears that during the entire period, most of the artificialia was kept in the so-called ‘brown art cabinet’, which was presumably made in 1736.77 However, there was a smaller group of artefacts that were described as being ‘in the room’: the pyramid and the grotto on top of two cabinets, the Guianan bow and arrows, hat and basket, the runic calendars, the Chinese figure of Campbell, the small figures of plaster and alabaster, Leche’s four pictures of the Elements, the Roman lamp, the stone picture with the epigram of King Frederick, the two Catholic pictures of Joseph with infant Jesus and the resur- rected Christ, as well as the Sámi drum. As previously described, the commemorative plaque of 1735 hung outside the room, above the door. The mummy had also apparently been outside the room, probably in the gallery with the wet specimens. Finally, the Inuit kayak with the anorak hung in the entrance hallway. A major change of the facilities took place in the 1760s (Fig. 4.16). It had been decided to move the anatomical theatre, enabling further expansion of the museum. The relocation, which took place between 1767 and 1769, resulted in a partition of the square room formerly containing the anatomical theatre. The northern section, as well as the northern room at the western end of the building, were to be occupied

76 Löwegren 1952, 108. 77 Museum inventory 1780; see also note 68.

58 The Brown Art Cabinet by the library. The southern section, as well as the southern room at the western end of the building (the original room of the museum), were to be occupied by the museum. Fourteen large cabinets with doors were manufactured for the collection of natural history, whereas the artificialia were kept in the original ‘brown art cabinet’.78 In 1788, Retzius proposed the separation of natural history from the physical instruments, the curiosa and historical artefacts. However, Retzius would not be able to realize his plan until after 1802, with the moving of the collections of natural history to the new academy building. Finally, in 1805, the collection of artificialia could also be relocated to new facilities, the auditorium of the Historical Institute, where, together with Stobæus’s Coin Cabinet, these materials became the foundation for the collection of the Historical Museum. It appears that Stobæus’s ‘brown art cabinet’ was discarded at the same time. In an inventory of the furniture in the Historical Museum, dated 16 September 1805, the ‘collection of antiquities’ were housed in a blue cabinet with shelves on one side and a hanging bar on the other, fitted with two glass doors.79 Thus the collection of artificialia had been transferred from the periph- ery of the old Museum of Natural History to the centre of the new Historical Muse- um. Unfortunately, during the course of the nineteenth century, the original collection became increasingly neglected, if not maltreated. Thus, from the 1930s and until present time, most of the artefacts have been presumed to be lost.80 Now, however, at long last, it has been concluded that, against all odds, the great majority of artefacts did in fact survive. As a consequence of the reconstruction presented in this article, it will be possible to once more reassemble and exhibit the original eighteenth century collection of artificialia, including Stobæus’s ‘Curiosis naturalibus atq. artificalibus’ and Hesselius’s/Gyllenborg’s ‘American Curiosities’. This reconstructed collection offers a rare glimpse into an academic cabinet of curiosities, as it was during the Swedish Age of Enlightenment.

78 Löwegren 1952, 109; Museum inventory 1780. 79 Museum inventory 1805/1806. According to the consistory protocol of 7/6 1805, the cabinet had been ordered to house the “antiquities” (the coins were housed in two simultaneously ordered pulpits). Since Retzius and Sjöborg donated their collections a few months later, on 20/9 1805 and 6/11 1805 respectively, these ‘antiquities’ must refer to the artefacts from the museum of natural history. 80 Hildebrand 1934, 47-8.

59 Fig. 5.1. Hesselius’s ‘Indian Idol’ pendant (LUHM 173). Height: 123 mm. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

60 5. The ‘Indian Idol’ of Samuel Hesselius. Dutch fur trade, Caribbean conches and cultural entanglement in New Netherland

Andreas Manhag

During the period between 2014 and 2018, one of the oldest ethnographic collections from North America, which had been thought as lost and forgotten for over 260 years, was discovered at the Historical Museum at Lund University in Sweden.1 Among the eight Native American artefacts within the collection, the most peculiar was without doubt a female pendant idol, described in 1736 by the collector as exceedingly rare and originally taken by an Englishman from the neck of an Indian, found dead in the woods (Fig. 5.1). At the time of the discovery, no similar artefact could be located in any ethnographic collection, and for that reason, doubts were raised about its claimed North American provenance. However, the pendant idol undoubtedly belongs to the recently defined category of ‘Standardized Marine Shell’ (SMS) ornaments, a culturally entangled phenomenon which emerged around 1635 in connection with the Dutch fur trade in North America. According to established research concerning the SMS industry, these pendant ornaments were probably invented and manufactured by Dutch colonists in the vicinity of New Amsterdam, made from conch shells imported from Curaçao, and traded for furs with the Native Americans of the northeastern woodlands. Among the 4,845 recorded SMS pendants, all have been found at archaeological sites except for two, which have been collected ethnographically. The discovered female pendant idol from Lund can therefore be declared to be the third specimen of this latter category. Not only that, it is also absolutely unique within the entire spectrum of SMS pendants due to its large size and its unique motif.

1 Manhag & Wittrock 2019.

61 The ‘Indian Idol’ of Samuel Hesselius Samuel Hesselius’s collection of ‘American Curiosities’

The Lund University collection of ‘American Curiosities’, as it was described in 17362, was brought to Sweden in 1731 by Samuel Hesselius (1692–1753), who during the past thirteen years had served as pastor at the Swedish-speaking parish of Christina in Pennsylvania. According to Hesselius, it was he himself that had collected the artefacts and specimens, and it was he who, at his own expense, sent them to Count Carl Gyllenborg in 1736, with the specified intention to donate the collection to his old alma mater, Uppsala University. Hence, the artefacts were laid in a chest, an inventory list was compiled and signed by Hesselius on 29 July, after which the collection was sent from the rectory in Norberg to Gyllenborg in Stockholm.3 How- ever, Gyllenborg, who at that time was the Chancellor of Lund University, decided to present the collection to the newly founded museum at Lund University instead, where it was received on 6 November.4 According to Hesselius’s two inventory lists from 1736, the collection consisted of fifteen species of animals, ten species of plants,5 one book of botanical nature prints, a couple of mineral specimens, and eleven man-made objects. Of the latter, eight were specified to be Native American. Among them, the description of the idol pendant is without doubt the most fascinating:

No. 14: An Indian Idol, which they carry around their necks and worship, which could never have been acquired from them, had not an Englishman found it in the forest on a dead Indian; and since these Gods are valued as much by them as they value their own life, the Englishman found this God so precious that he would not part with it without a great profit.6

Seventeen years later, in 1753, when the first proper museum inventory was compiled, there was no apparent trace of the idol or the rest of Hesselius’s collection, other than his book of plants, produced and signed by himself.7 In spite of several

2 Hesselius 1736b (all English translations in the article are by the author). 3 It seems that the original inventory list (Hesselius 1736a) ended up in Stockholm (Museum of Ethnography), whereas a copy thereof (Hesselius 1736b) was included with the donation to Lund (Lund University Archive). The contents of the two inventory lists are basically the same, but they contain slightly different writing and information. 4 According to a note in Hesselius 1736b; see also Manhag, chapter 4 this volume. 5 See also Arup & Mostadius, chapter 12 this volume. 6 Hesselius 1736b. 7 In the 1920s, the botanist Otto Gertz unsuccessfully tried to locate the book, which was mentioned for the last time in the catalogue of 1780 (Gertz 1928a, 229–31; Museum inventory 1780).

62 The ‘Indian Idol’ of Samuel Hesselius academic attempts to explain the possible whereabouts or destruction of the important collection, it would remain lost until 2014. That year, with the help of the information from the oldest, but rarely consulted, inventory of the newly founded Historical Museum, compiled in 1805/1806, a connection was made between Hes- selius’s ‘Indian Idol’ and one of the artefacts at the museum, a little pendant amulet (LUHM 173). Its description in the 1805/1806 inventory reads:

A little Chinese figure of a woman, or maybe a Goddess of ivory. Has what seems like a pearl necklace around its neck, and on its side is a hole through the neck, enabling the whole Divinity to be hung on the chest as an amulet.8

Apart from the information of the figure being Chinese, a supposition that apparently originates from the speculation of Ebbe Bring and Bernhardus Darin in their dissertation dissertation of 1765, the information in both texts specifically describes an idol, which is worn around the neck. There is no other artefact at the Historical Museum in the inventory of 1805/1806 that matches such a description, which means that if Hesselius’s idol had been at the Historical Museum at that time, it could only be this one.9 As previously mentioned, there was no immediate and obvious match to Hesse- lius’s idol in the very brief descriptions of the older inventories of 1753, 1759 or 1780. However, by comparing the information from all the inventories in order to trace the lost artefacts, there was little doubt that the idol probably corresponded to one of a number of ‘small images of alabaster’, that had been listed in the three inventories of the eighteenth century.10 Thus, according to the information provided through Hesselius’s inventory list, the various inventories of Museum Stobæanum and the Historical Museum, as well as the publications from 1765 and 1824 (see Fig. 5.2), it could be deduced that Hesselius’s

8 Museum inventory 1805/1806. 9 That it must have been at the Historical Museum in 1805/1806 is also evident, considering that between 2014 and 2018, all the other seven Native American artefacts from Hesselius’s collection could be identified and discovered within the collection of the Historical Museum. 10 Manhag & Wittrock (2019) initially assumed that the idol described in the inventories of 1736 and 1805/1806 might be identical to one of ‘Two small images of ivory’ in the inventories from 1753 and 1759. However, after a thorough analysis of the inventories, it is more probable that these two ivory images are in fact identical to what is described as ‘Two obscene Dutch snuffboxes of ivory’ in the inventory of 1780. For that reason it is most probable that Hesselius’s idol is in fact identical to one of the ‘small images of alabaster’ which are recorded in the inventories of 1753 (four), 1759 (two) and 1780 (one). The information of only one image of alabaster 1780 indicates that this object was indeed identical to the idol in question, since it evidently was at the museum in 1765, as proven by Bring and Darin’s description and image (see Fig. 5.2), and since the idol does not correspond with any other object in the museum inventory of 1780.

63 The ‘Indian Idol’ of Samuel Hesselius

Fig. 5.2. Illustrations of the ‘Indian Idol’ in Bring & Darin (1765) and Sjöborg (1824).

‘Indian Idol’ was identical to the pendant amulet that had been given the inventory number LUHM 173 in the inventory of 1855.11 The only problem was that at the time of the discovery of the lost Hesselius collection, no similar artefact could be found in any ethnographic North American collection. For that reason, doubts were raised concerning the supposed Native American provenance. Archaeologist Matthew Betts from the Canadian Museum of History, for instance, remarked that it did not resem- ble any known Inuit or Palaeoeskimo ivory artefacts, but instead noted superficial similarities to Northern ivory mobiliary art. He proposed that it might be an historic ‘scrimshaw’ object made either by a fisherman or whaler to copy a traditional native design, or possibly made by an Native American specifically to sell for trade.12 Now, at last, there is a definite answer to the question of the supposed Native American provenance, and curiously enough it is both ‘Yes’ and ‘No’. It appears that the idol was manufactured by Dutch colonists in New Netherland, with western techniques and using imported materials, but that it was fabricated using a visual language aimed at a Native American target group, with the purpose of being used in the all-important fur trade.

11 Museum inventory 1855. 12 Personal communication by Matthew Betts on 6 March 2017.

64 The ‘Indian Idol’ of Samuel Hesselius ‘Standardized Marine Shell’ ornaments from New Netherland

The problem of the absence of comparative examples in ethnographic collections was solved in 2019. In May of that year, ethnologist Christian Feest reported that there did in fact exist one North American ethnographic artefact, made of a similar material, decorated with similar dots and lines, and fitted with a similar hole at the neck, enabling it to be worn as a pendant. This effigy amulet, in the shape of a loon, is kept at the National Museum of Denmark (Fig. 5.3).13 Together with a wampum necklace,14 the loon pendant had been acquired in northeastern North America sometime during the seventeenth century.15 I soon discovered that an archaeological article concerning such North American loon pendants, as well as other types of similarly decorated figurative pendants, had been written by William M. Beauchamp as early as 1901.16 Kathryn Murano Santos, Senior Director at the Rochester Museum & Science Center, kindly informed me that Duane Esarey of the Illinois State Archaeological Survey quite recently had examined these pendants, and in his 2013 dissertation, Esarey refers to them as ‘Standardized Marine Shell’ (SMS) ornaments. Considering the distinct technical and material aspects of Hesselius’s ‘Indian idol’, there can be no doubt that it belongs to the previously overlooked category of SMS ornaments.17 This culturally entangled phenomenon emerged around the year 1635 as something entirely new in Native American ornamentation. Most likely, SMS ornaments were invented and manufactured by Dutch colonists using Western drills

13 Catalogue no. EHc21 14 Catalogue no. EHc22 15 Due 1980, 26. The loon pendant and the wampum necklace were transferred to the ethnographic collection of said museum in 1827, following the dissolution of Det Kongelige Kunstkammer in 1825. The pendant had been transferred to the latter museum in 1751. Before that it had been part of the Gottorp Kunstkammer in Holstein (Dam-Mikkelsen 1980). The latter museum was founded in 1651, according to Adam Olearius, primarily through the acquisition of the Bernardus Paludanus (1550– 1633) collection, located in Enkhuizen in the United Provinces of the Netherlands (Olearius 1666, in the ‘Dedicatio’). The Paludanus collection was catalogued between 1617 and 1618, but it makes no mention of any similar artefact. Paludanus died in 1633, and there is no record of what he collected during his last 15 years. Considering the similar source-critical problem concerning the origin of the dodo head from the Gottorf collection, which is generally considered as originating from the Paludanus collection, the same applies to the pendant (Parish 2013, 192–3). In view of the information given by Olearius, it is very probable that the pendant was originally part of the Paludanus’s collection. 16 Beauchamp 1901, 361–81. 17 According to Esarey the reason that so little attention has been given to SMS, as opposed to wampum, is that it was common only during the seventeenth century, and thus escaped ethnographic notice (Esarey 2013, 30).

65 The ‘Indian Idol’ of Samuel Hesselius

Fig. 5.3. Loon pendant from the National Museum of Denmark. Height: 50 mm. Photo: National Museum of Denmark. and lathes, but obviously adapted for a Native cultural context. In fact, SMS ornaments appear to have been crucial to the Dutch fur trade, which was conducted primarily with the local Iroquoian speaking peoples in the western inland.18 After the loss of the Dutch colony to England in 1664, the SMS industry persisted until circa 1710 in the New York and Pennsylvania trade.19

18 According to Esarey the production of SMS necklaces with ornamental pendants is related to, but separate from, the more well-known colonial production of wampum beads, which was also important for the fur trade (Esarey 2013, 48–52; 53–8). Whereas the original Native American production of wampum prior to 1660 was restricted to eastern Long Island, no seventeenth century SMS ornament has been found on Long Island. Actually, SMS ornaments are practically non-existent east of the Hudson Valley (Esarey 2013, 57). 19 Esarey 2013, 152–3.

66 The ‘Indian Idol’ of Samuel Hesselius

Fig. 5.4. Queen conch (Lobatus/Strombus gigas). Illustration from J. Ca. Chenu 1844, vol. 2, pl. 2.

SMS ornaments have been found primarily on sites belonging to the Five Nations of the Iroquois Confederacy of upstate New York and the Iroquoian Susquehannock of eastern Pennsylvania, and to a somewhat lesser extent among the Algonquian speaking Munsee of New Jersey.20 Considering that Hesselius was stationed mainly in the area of former Fort Christina (presently Wilmington, Delaware), and considering his account concerning the circumstances of the Englishman finding the idol on the neck of a dead Indian in the forest, it would be a fair guess that the Indian may have belonged to the Susquehannock people, who lived in the forested inland to the west of the colony. According to Esarey it seems that the majority of SMS ornaments were manufactured from West Indian conch shells, which were evidently exported in large volumes from the Dutch island of Curaçao to the Dutch city of New Amsterdam (since 1664 New York). The largest SMS ornaments must have been manufactured specifically from the queen conch Lobatus/Strombus gigas (Fig. 5.4).21 This explains the seemingly peculiar material from which the Hesselius’s idol had been manufactured.

20 Esarey 2013, 87–94. 21 Esarey 2013, 39–43, 128.

67 The ‘Indian Idol’ of Samuel Hesselius It is exceedingly hard, almost brittle, displays pale shades of pink and cream, and has growth layers in an uneven, wavy profile.22 These properties, combined with the size of the amulet, render it evident that the idol is made from the thickened outer lip of the queen conch shell, in line with the larger types of SMS ornaments.23 According to Esarey’s study, no less than 4,845 similarly decorated and perforated effigy pendants have been found archaeologically in the northeastern part of North America, and they have been dated between approximately 1635 and 1710.24 Of these, 676 are zoomorphic, including shapes of various birds (including owls, loons, and geese), fishes, turtles, beavers, otters and pelts (Fig. 5.5). In contrast, only nine of the pendants are anthropomorphic, belonging to the so called ‘birdman’ type.25 Unfor- tunately, the most prominent anthropomorphic category of human masks, which come closest to Hesselius’s ‘Indian Idol’, have not been inventoried.26 Among this exceedingly large material, only two SMS pendants are ethnographic examples, i.e., collected directly from the Native Americans who used them: the loon pendant with a separate wampum necklace from the National Museum in Denmark, and a runtee and wampum necklace once owned by a prominent eighteenth century Huron leader.27 Considering the circumstances described by Hesse- lius, the female idol pendant from Lund obviously also belongs to this latter rare ethnographic category. Apart from that aspect, two more factors make the Lund ‘Indian Idol’ unique: its size and motif. At 12.3 cm in height, somewhat larger than the largest ‘birdman’ pendants, the ‘Indian Idol’ is actually the largest example within the entire known SMS ornament corpus.28 Also unique is the fact that the ‘Indi- an Idol’ most likely represents a female deity, one of a kind within the SMS corpus, and not matching any of the previously known motif categories. Considering these three aspects: its ethnographic origins, its large size and its unique feminine deity motif, Samuel Hesselius’s ‘Indian Idol’ fulfils his description as an exceedingly rare and valuable ‘American Curiosity’.

22 Because of its hardness and distinct growth layers, the initial assumption was that it might be from the tooth of a sperm whale (Manhag & Wittrock 2019, 244). 23 Esarey 2013, 39, 128. 24 Esarey 2013, 11. 25 Esarey 2013, 73, 100. Alternatively, these ‘birdmen’ may be interpreted as birds of prey, that is zoomorph. 26 Esarey 2013, 234–5. 27 Esarey 2013, 34–5. 28 The nine ‘birdman’ type examples, manufactured approx. 1665-1710, measure 7–10 cm in height (Esarey 2013, 230–1).

68 The ‘Indian Idol’ of Samuel Hesselius

Fig. 5.5. Various types of SMS pendants. Birds and owls (no. 89–94; 97), turtles (no. 95–6; 98–9; 102–3), beaver (no. 100) and fishes (no. 101; 104–5). Illustration from W. M. Beauchamp 1901.

69 Fig. 6.1. Wooden coffin containing the mummy (LUHM 28079). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

70 6. The Egyptian mummy: curious collectors and contested commodities in the eighteenth century

Joachim Östlund

Mummies at museums

For most visitors to Historical Museum at Lund University, the Egyptian mummy is probably one of the main attractions; it is certainly considered ‘a rare object’ within the collection. The coffin containing the mummy (Fig. 6.1) and two bronze figurines (Fig. 6.2) arrived at Museum Stobæanum in 1736. It was donated by Carl Gyllenborg who, at that time, was a chancellor of Lund University. Today, only the coffin is displayed, since the once wrapped human remains are badly damaged.1 Only fragments now survive, and the head – lost since the middle of the nineteenth century – is now believed to have been found.2 An X-ray examination in 1978 dated the mummy to the period after Tuthmose II to the Twenty-First Dynasty (1502–1085 BC).3 When exhibiting Egyptian mummies in museums, their main function is to offer an insight into the ancient civilization to which they once belonged. Much lesser attention is given to stories closer to our own time, stories of how and why these human remains ended up in Europe, at a time when only few public museums did exist. From the Middle Ages up to today there has been a struggle for authority over the concept of ‘Egyptian mummy’. Modern museums today have to ‘compete’ with horror movies that portray mummies as evil monsters intent on threatening anyone

1 In 2021, the Historical Museum in Lund opens a new exhibition on Museum Stobæanum and the ethnographic collection. In the new exhibition, both coffin and human remains will be on display. See Karsten, chapter 17 this volume. 2 Alnemark, 26 June 2019; see Manhag, chapter 4 this volume. 3 Ahlström, Håkansson & Olin 1978.

71 The Egyptian mummy

Fig. 6.2. Two bronze figurines found inside the coffin (LUHM 230 and 231). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

who dares disturb them. This modern, cinematic imagery contrasts the early modern conceptions, when Egyptian mummies were thought to support life and heal the sick. Their tombs were robbed and their remains disturbed because the mortal remains were used as a cure for everything from fevers to the epilepsy plaguing Europeans. At the same time, not all people were convinced of the mummies’ healing powers. This chapter explores the scientific collecting of objects from the Mediterranean by Swedish collectors at the beginning of the eighteenth century. The focus will be

72 The Egyptian mummy on the different uses of mummies in early modern Europe. How and why did the Egyptian mummy become an object of conflicting feelings in the early eighteenth century, feelings of both curiosity and disgust? What happened to the Egyptian mummy after it was donated to Lund University and Kilian Stobæus’s collection? Why is the body in the museum so damaged today, and how was the mummy obtained in the first place?

A dark trade – curiosity ‘For a few hours we were in the realm of the dead’, write the two young gentlemen Carl F. von Höpken and Edvard Carleson in a report to their employer, the Swedish state chancellor Carl Gyllenborg, completed in the spring of 1736.4 Shortly before writing the report, the two men were working their way through the Saqqara burial ground in Egypt, searching for an authentic Egyptian mummy. Unfortunately, no mummies were to be found in the ‘realm of the dead’, or the catacombs through which they were searching. However, thanks to their guides – always mentioned in the margins in their report – they finally found what they wanted. The guides had found a new location and unearthed a new tomb for their customers to explore. In their report, Höpken and Carleson described how they descended into ‘a big beautiful room’ to find a carved section of the wall where a coffin had been placed. At the foot of the coffin they saw the remains of a mummified dog and two mummified individuals, who ‘probably must have been servants or slaves to the person’ in the coffin. From this observation they drew the conclusion that they must have discovered a mummified king or noble person. After the discovery, the expedition quickly left Saqqara and Egypt under cover of darkness in order to continue by ship towards the north, and Sweden. With them on the ship was the mummy. The snapshots above can be found in a report on the ‘Egyptian catacombs’ at the Saqqara burial ground, signed by Höpken and Carleson in Pera in Constantinople on 16/27 April 1736. The report has a form of a travel narrative depicting a journey by the two Swedes at the centre of the story and creating an image of two curious adventurers searching their way through tombs of an ancient civilization.

Collecting in the Mediterranean world The report from the mummy expedition also provides some insight into the realities of collecting of objects in the Mediterranean. Neither Höpken nor Carleson were scientific explorers. They were agents sent out by the Swedish state to observe and

4 Kantseli-Rådens … in Leche, 1739.

73 The Egyptian mummy collect information on trade in Eastern Mediterranean. At the time, the Ottomans pushed for closer relations with Sweden, and both Höpken and Carleson were in contact with leading figures in the Topkapi palace, such as the Ottoman minister of finance, Mehmed Said Efendi. Efendi had visited Sweden and had met with Gyl- lenborg and Höpken’s father, Daniel, in 1733.5 Daniel N. von Höpken, head of the Swedish Board of Trade, was the chief architect of Swedish trade policy in the Med- iterranean. He was also a colleague and even a friend of Gyllenborg, who financed the two travellers’ expedition to Saqqara. At the time when Höpken and Carleson visited Istanbul and travelled in the Eastern Mediterranean, Swedish shipping in the region was protected by peace treaties with the Ottoman Empire, including the treaties of Algiers (1729), Tunis (1736), and later on treaty with Tripoli (1741). The expedition to Saqqara came at a collaborative stage in negotiations with the Ottoman Empire that would result in a trade agreement in 1737. With the peace treaties, a Swedish consular network was established in the region, creating even more contacts and collaborations with traders and local elites.6 The success of the mummy expedition in Saqqara was most probably due to the personal contacts with leading figures in the Ottoman state at the time. Unfortunately, no instructions, invitation or other financial agreement for this 90-man strong expedition have been found. This historical context is important to include when explaining how the Egyptian mummy found its way to Sweden, and ended up in Lund.7

Egyptian wonders in Lund What happened to the mummy that had been collected by Höpken and Carleson after it was donated by Gyllenborg to Lund University and Kilian Stobæus’s collection? Did it become a status object in the museum or was it used as an ingredient in medicines? Here we can focus on Johan Leche, a medical student at Lund Universi- ty and colleague of Kilian Stobæus.8 Leche worked side by side with Stobæus, not only as a custodian of his collections but also as an assistant in his chemical laboratory. The laboratory has been set up for the purpose of ‘drug preparation, for the sick poor’, i.e. those who could not afford to buy medicine from the city’s apothecary. The powders prepared in this laboratory were described as powerful, but still cheap.9

5 Westrin 1900; Danielsson 1923. 6 Östlund 2014. 7 Höpken and Carleson were not the first Swedish visitors to Egypt. See for example: Eneman 1889; Östlund 2008. 8 See also Naum, chapter 2 and 3, Mostadius, chapter 11 and Arup & Mostadius, chapter 12 this volume for further references to Leche. 9 Martin 1765. 74 The Egyptian mummy When the mummy arrived to Lund, it was Leche who was given the task of examining and studying the mummy’s body. His observations resulted in a dissertation with the title Disputatio historico-medica de mumia Ægyptiaca. It was the first dissertation on the topic of mummies in Sweden and was successfully defended, under the supervision of Professor Johann J. von Döbeln, at the medical faculty in Lund.10 As a student of medicine, the key question for Leche was clear from the beginning: whether the mummy could be used for medicinal purposes. Pulverized mummies were most probably sold as a medicinal ingredient at the Lund apothecary – Apoteket Svanen. TheMumia vera humana featured in the official Swedish medical index in 1699 and continued to be sold by apothecaries in Sweden and the rest of Europe through the eighteenth century.11 Swedish doctors and apothecaries were still guided by an older pharmacopoeia of 1686, Pharmaco- poeia Holmiensis Galeno-Chymica.12 Many doctors who used corpse medicine followed the sixteenth-century Swiss physician Paracelsus, who believed that to cure an ailment, it should be treated with something similar. When people ate ground-up body parts or bodily fluids, they believed they were using one powerful bodily force to cure another bodily ailment. However, at times the cures also seemed to centre on the mystical nature and powers of dead bodies. Egyptian mummies fell into this latter group.13

Mummy medicine – disgust Leche’s dissertation is a typical eighteenth century dissertation commenting on a wide range of topics related to the key questions of immortality, reincarnation (humans as animals), vampires, and the revival of bodies. When finally turning his attention to the mummy, Leche defined it as a sort of universal panacea, and he traces this idea back to the writings of the Arabic physician Serapion and the so- called ‘Augsburg Pharmacopoeia’. In this discussion, Leche also refers to the existence of ‘ether’ as a healing property when commenting on Daniel Beckher’s mummy (in his work Medicus Microcosmus). Ether consists of the purest form of a human’s bodily element and is considered to be preserved for some time after death. Leche’s definition of ether is based on Paracelsus’s view in De Carne & Mumia.14 Ether is an element that:

10 Leche 1739. 11 Kongl. May:tz i nåder vthgifne sidste medicinal-ordningar, 1699. 12 Oreland 2017, 111–36. 13 Dannenfeldt 1985, 173. See also Schwyzer 2005. 14 Paracelsus 1658, 504.

75 The Egyptian mummy

abounds abundantly in the body’s innermost and most personalized feelings as well as virtues, and thus is very suitable as a substance of transmission, if performed properly, with the aim of correcting a harmful or unhealthy body part or character to be preserved and strengthened, in your own or any other body.15

‘What was the evidence of the healing power of ether?’ he asked sceptically. Leche referred to cures such as Johann Zwelfer’s healing powder – which was free of mummy – to suggest that this was more effective than cures containing mummy. In any case, mummy ingredients must have had a very small effect. Leche concludes that the question of whether or not ‘ether’ existed was not settled, since it had not been proven if any sensation remained among the dead or whether human flesh treated with balm and preserved for centuries retained some trace of life.16 Even though the question of the existence of ether is not settled, Leche is ulti- mately very critical towards the use of mummies in medicine. He refers to critics such as the German physician Leonhart Fuchs (d. 1566), who in Paradoxorum medicinæ condemned unenlightened doctors who followed Serapion. Leche also cites the work of Ambrose Paré (d. 1590), who published in Paris his Discours de la momie, de la licorne, des venins, et de la peste in an attempt to describe the presumed virtues of mummy, unicorn horn, and other ‘miraculous’ drugs.17 Leche’s final argument used the story of Guy de la Fontaine, physician to the king of Navarre, who in 1564 inquired about mummies while he was in Alexandria. La Fontaine had sought out the principal Jewish merchant engaged in the sale of mummies and asked to see his collection. Shown a large pile of ostensibly mummified bodies, la Fontaine asked for further information about the ancient embalming and burial practices. The merchant laughed at his naiveté and pointed out that he himself had prepared the bodies. The mummies had been those of slaves and the like, young and old, male and female, which he had indiscriminately collected and then prepared in special ovens. The merchant did not care what diseases had caused their deaths, since once embalmed, no one could tell the difference. He marvelled that the Christians, so picky about their food, would eat the bodies of the dead. Com- menting on the story, Leche addressed his audience with the following question: ‘What can we say based on the above? Answer: To prescribe human corpses as drugs is both terrible and dangerous and crazy.’ Leche’s examination of the mummy and his arguments suggest that the mummy was not intended for any medical use. However, neither visitors nor students visiting the Museum Stobæanum could keep their hands off the mummy. This is evident

15 Leche 1739, 7. 16 Leche 1739, 37. 17 Dannenfeldt 1985, 176–7.

76 The Egyptian mummy from an observation made already in 1741 by the visiting student Carl F. H. Uggla. He notes that the mummy’s head was missing as well as its neck, most of the torso, arms, hands and its feet.18 The eighteenth-century museum was not a safe resting place. As mummies were still sought after and mumia (i.e. the powdered mummy preparation) was still being sold at pharmacies in Sweden, it is not impossible that curious visitors and medical students took fragments of the mummy with them, to collect or to sell to the pharmacy. Besides the visitors, there were other threats to the mummy too, likes pests, rats and bad conditions at the museum in general. In summary, this mummy gives an insight into the different uses and meanings of human remains from Egypt as both prestigious and highly contested commodities in the early modern Sweden.

18 Ahlström et al. 1978, 24.

77 Fig. 7.1. This 10 ducat was one of the most valuable objects in Stobæus’s medal and coin collection. Two types of 10 ducats were minted to function as diplomatic gifts during the Swedish King Freder- ick I’s journey from Stockholm to Hessen in 1731. One of the types is described in Locus VIII no. 2 of the inventory of 1745 and was part of Stobæus’s collection. The photo shows the only known example of this fantastic coin, which is now part of the Uppsala collection. Dia. 4 cm. Photo: Ragnar Hedlund, Uppsala University.

78 7. Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals

Gitte Tarnow Ingvardson & Line Bjerg

Killian Stobæus’s interest in coins, medals and numismatic research is vividly expressed in his three dissertations: De Re numismatica, Dissertatio Historica de Numis et Sigillis Lundensibus and De Nummulo Brattensburgensi.1 The most important of the three theses is the one on the subject of ‘Brattingsborg pennies’. According to legend, these small round stones were coins that stemmed from a sunken castle in Ivösjön, but Stobæus demonstrated that the coins were in fact fossils of marine bivalve animals.2 Stobæus’s collection of coins and medals did not form part of his donation of ethnographic, archaeological and natural history objects to Lund University in 1735.3 At the time (as is still the case today), medal and coin collections were considered to be historic object as well as invested capital that could be valorised if need be. A good example of this is the near contemporary collection of Danish landowner Abraham Lehn. He valorised medals for an amount of 900 Danish Rigsdaler on 6 September 1726 in a transaction with the jeweller Bernt (Berendt) Jacob (1690–1749).4 Most probably, he sold the coins because he was about to marry and settle down on his estate and was therefore in need of capital. Hence, a good coin collection was also an investment, and the Stobæus collection was no exception (Fig. 7.1). Stobæus most likely regarded his collection as an old age insurance policy as well as a research object, which may be the reason why it was not included in his 1735 donation.

1 Stobæus 1732; Stobæus 1741a; Stobæus 1741c. 2 von Heijne 2005, 90; see also Naum, chapter 2 and Lindskog, Ahlberg & Eriksson, chapter 10, Fig. 10.1A, this volume. 3 See Naum, chapter 2 and Manhag, chapter 4 this volume. 4 Bendixen 1964, 104. Thanks to Thomas B. Egebæk of The Danish Jewish Museum for help with identification of Berendt.

79 Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals

Fig. 7.2. Inventory of Stobæus’s collection of coins and medals from the sale to Lund University in 1745. The professors Niclas Oelrich, Niclas Stobæus, Sven Bring and Lars Liedbeck reviewed and assessed the collection, present was also Academy secretary Erland Junbeck, who perhaps wrote the inventory. Photo. Gunnar Meander.

Stobæus never sold his collection; instead, in 1745, three years after his death, his widow Florentina Stobæus sold her late husband’s collection of coins and medals to Lund University. The sale brought her the substantial sum of 1900 daler silvermynt (silver coins). In comparison, the monthly salary of a skilled worker was approximately 24 daler silvermynt, and with 5–6 daler silvermynt, one could buy a barrel of grain.5 Unfortunately, Florentina died later that year and did not get to enjoy the benefits of her fortune. Stobæus’s collection of coins and medals formed the basis of the present Collec- tion of Coins and Medals at the Historical Museum at Lund University. As was

5 Lagerqvist 2011, 126.

80 Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals customary in the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Stobæus’s collection was combined with new purchases and other collections, and the context of the coins and medals was lost. However, the original inventory list from the sale in 1745 is preserved, giving us a fantastic insight into the types of coins and medals Stobæus collected (Fig. 7.2).

How to organise an eighteenth-century medal and coin collection The inventory list from the 1745 sale of Stobæus’s medal and coin collection is divided into 26 ‘locations’ Locus I–XXVI. The locations probably refer to trays in a small coin cabinet where Stobæus kept his collection, and thus reflects how the collection was organised. The systematisation principles are based primarily on the type of material, the size and to some degree place of production, chronology and theme (Table 7.1). For example, in Locus VIII, all of Stobæus’s gold coins are described as being subdivided into large and small size coins and medals. In Locus VI and VII, we find ordinary Swedish copper coins, while examples of square-shaped Swedish silver coins were brought together in Locus XI. In Locus XII, we find medals and larger coins of King Gustav II Adolf (1611–32), and in Locus XIII it is exclu- sively Queen Christina (1632–54), while Locus XV represents an ensemble of smaller coin of both Swedish regents.

Table 7.1. Overview and interpretation of coins and medals described in the inventory drawn up in connection with the sale of Stobæus’s collection in 1745. Translated by Cajsa Sjöberg, Lund Universi- ty, Line Bjerg, National Museum of Denmark, and Gitte Tarnow Ingvardson, Historical Museum at Lund University. Locus Heading Translation Description (interpretation) I.1-5 Nummi Ferrei Iron coins Five iron medals of Swedish kings from Gustav I (1523– 60) to Charles XI (1660–97). II Dupri Copper Fourteen medals from Hedlinger’s regent series. III.1-30 Cuprei symbolici Symbolic coins of Thirty medals from Karlsteen’s 2nd regent series. magnitudine copper in the size dimidii Carolini of a half karolin IV.1-30 Nummi cuprei Copper coins in Thirty medals from unidentified regent series. ejusdem the same size magnitudinis V.1-30 Nummi Cuprei Copper coins of Thirty medals from unidentified regent series. eadem the same size and magnitudine et dimentions modulo VI.1-7 Nummi cuprei Ordinary copper Nineteen Swedish copper coins (1/4, 1/2 öre, öre, fyrk usuales variae coins in different and 2 öre) from Gustav II (1611-32) to Charles XI magnitudines sizes (1660–97).

81 Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals

Locus Heading Translation Description (interpretation) VII.1-10 Nummi cuprei Ordinary copper Nine Swedish copper coins (1/6 öre, öre and 2 öre) from usualis monetae coins Charles XI (1660–97) to Frederick I (1721–51). A series of ten Charles XII (1697–1718) daler. Three tokens. VIII.1-2 Nummi aurei Gold coins A large Swedish Gustav II and Maria Eleonara enamelled gold medal (1620–32). A Swedish Frederick I (1721–51) 10 dukat. (VIII).1-15 Minores Nummi Smaller ordinary Sixteen Swedish gold coins (1/4 dukat, 1/2 dukat, dukat usualis monetae gold coins and 2 dukat) from Gustav II (1611–32) to Frederick I aurei (1721–51). IX.1-22 Nummi Argentei Silver coins Forty-nine Swedish and Danish silver coins from the 15th and 16th centuries. Many descriptions are imprecise, e.g. ‘six coins from Gotland’ which makes it impossible to interpret the types. Small coin types as örtug, klipping and blaffert are identified, and it is likely that most of the coins in locus IX consists of small silver coins. The regents: queen of Denmark, Norway and Sweden Margrete I (1375–1412), King John of Denmark (1481–1513), King Christian II of Denmark, Norway and Sweden (1513–23) and King Erik XIV of Sweden (1560–68) are mentioned. X.1-4 Nummi argentei Quadratic and Four Swedish silver coins (8 öre, 16 öre and 4 mark) qvadrati et rhomboid silver from Erik XIV (1560–68), Johan III (before he was Rhombiformes coins enthroned in 1568) and Charles IX (1604–11). (X).5-22 Nummi argentei Round silver coins Six Swedish silver medals from Gustav I to Charles IX. Rotundi Thirteen Swedish silver coins (1/2 daler, riksdaler, 2 daler, mark, 3 mark, 4 mark, 11 mark) from Gustav I to Charles IX. XI.1.22 Nummi argentei Quadratic silver Twenty-six Swedish silver coins (fyrk, 1/2 öre, öre, 2 öre, qvadrati coins 4 öre, mark, örtug, 2 penning, 16 penning klipping) from Gustav I to Charles IX. One Polish Sigismund III, 1627 (type not identified). XII.1-11 Nummi agentei Silver coins of Two Swedish silver coins (skilling and öre) of Gustav I Gustavi Adolphi Gustav Adolf (1523–60). Nine silver medals of Gustav I. XIII.1-15 Nummi argentei Silver coins of Nine Swedish silver coins (mark, 2 mark, 4 mark, 1/4 Reginae Christinae Queen Cristina riksdaler, 1/2 riksdaler) and six silver medals of Queen Christina (1632–54). XIV.1-11 Nummi Caroli Coins of Charles Three Swedish silver coins (2 mark, riksdaler) of Charles Gustavi Gustav X (1654–60). Seven silver medals of Charles X. One Danish silver coin from 1659 (krone) of Frederick III (1648–70). XV.1-3 Nummi argentei Smaller silver coins Twenty-three Swedish silver coins (1/2 öre, öre and minors groschen) of Gustav II (1611–32) to Christina (1632– 54). XVI.1-14 Nummi argentei Larger silver coins Thirteen Swedish silver medals of Charles XI (1660–97) Caroli XI majors of Charles XI and Ulrike Eleonora (1710–20). Two Charles XI 8 mark coins from 1664 and 1667. XVII.1-11 Nummi argentei Large silver coins Fifteen Swedish silver coins, some from the Swedish majores Regis of King Charles XI possessions in Vorpommern/Western Pomerania (mark, Caroli XI 2 mark, 4 mark, 8 mark) of Charles XI (1660– 97). Two Swedish silver medals of Ulrike Eleonora and Charles XI. XVIII.1-2 Nummi argentei Smaller silver coins One Swedish silver coin of Charles X, 1659 (type not minors identified). Forty Charles XI (1660–97) silver coins minted in Sweden and the Swedish possessions. XIX.1-11 Nummi majores Large coins of Eleven Swedish silver medals of Charles XII (1697– Caroli XII Charles XII 1718).

82 Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals

Locus Heading Translation Description (interpretation) XX.1-8 Nummi usualis Ordinary large Nine silver coins (daler, 8 mark, 4 mark, 2 mark, mark) majores Caroli XII coins of Charles of Charles XII (1697–1718). Two Swedish medals, one XII from 1544 of King Gustav (1523–60) and one from 1569 of King Johan III (1668–92). XXI.1-15 Nummi Ulrica Silver coins of Eight Swedish silver coins (4 mark, 2 mark and mark) Regina et Frederici queen Ulrica and of Ulrika Eleonora (1719–20) and Frederick I (1721– 51). regis Argentei king Frederik Ten Swedish silver medals of same regents. One jetton. XXII.1-24 Nummi Vitionis Coated iron Fourteen medals and coins in iron, pewter, copper and medalli exteri medals (Mars may silver. The following have been identified: Copper Mars. Partem refer to iron and medal of Italian count Luigi Ferdinando Marsigli Vition may refer to (b.1658–1730), iron medal of Pope Clement XI (1700– vitriol) 21), iron medal of Danish Queen Sophie Amalie of Braunschweig-Lüneburg (1648–70), copper medal of Pope Innocent XI (1676–89), pewter medal of Holy Roman Emperor Joseph I (1705–11), three English copper coins of English kings George I (1714–27), William III (1689–1702) and George II (1727–70), three French coins one in bronze (orichalcum) and two in copper of Ludvig XIV (1643-1715), and a Judaic shekel. XXIII.1-9 Nummi Private coins/ Nine Swedish medals: Count Gustav O. Stenbrock (b. Privitorum jettons 1614–85), Duke Johan III (b. 1537–92) gilded silver, Lord High Steward P. Brahe (b. 1602–80) silver, Knight Horn 1720 (probably Count Arvid Horn af Ekebyholm (b.1664–1742) pewter, two General Charles Emil Lewenhaupt the Elder (b. 1691–1743) silver, Charles XII (1697–1718) pewter medal and two not identified silver. XXIV.1-8 Nummi argentei Arab silver coins Six Arabic silver coins (perhaps kufic dirhems), two Arabici Roman denarii, 16 Danish medieval silver coins, probably of Valdemar I (1157-82) to Valdemar II (1202- 41). Two German medieval silver coins of Stralsund, 13 probably medieval bracteates from northern Germany and Scandinavia. Twenty-five coins are not described. XXV.1-16 Nummi Stannei Russian pewter Sixteen Russian pewter medals of for example, Peter I, Ruissici coins Peter II, Anna and Katarina. XXVI.1-26 Nummi Stanei Larger Russian Twenty-seven Russian pewter medals. Russici max. mod. pewter coins

Reconstructing the collection

Every Locus in the inventory is divided into posts (indicated by Arabic numerals after the Roman numeral in Table 7.1) describing one or more type of medal/coin. The level of detail in the descriptions varies greatly, as illustrated by the following examples. Locus VIII: ‘Nummi aurei’ no. 2: ‘Nummus Frederici Regis. Adversa Caput Regis cum inscr: Fridericus D.G. Rex Sveciae. Aversa. Regi suo Augustissimo iter in Has- siam mense Jun: Ao MDCCXXXI apparanti felicem faustumque et profectionem et Reditionem a Deo cuncta Svecia suppliciter precatur. Pondus est 10 Ducatorum’.6

6 Inventory 1745.

83 Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals

Fig. 7.3. This unique 10 ducat was one of two types minted as diplomatic gifts during the Swedish King Frederick I’s journey to Hessen in 1731. It is now in the collection of the Historical Museum in Lund. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

Translation: Gold coins. No. 2: Coin of King Frederick. On the obverse, the king’s head with the inscription: ‘Frederick, by the mercy of God King of Sweden.’ On the reverse: ‘All of Sweden are humbly praying to God, that the journey to Hessen in June 1731 will be fortunate and favourable for his Highness both on the way there as well as on the way home. Weight of ten ducat.’ Interpretation: The Swedish King Frederick I (1721–51), was the oldest son of Count Charles of Hessen-Kassel in central Germany. When Count Charles died in 1730, Frederick I became Count of Hessen-Kassel as well as King of Sweden. In 1731 King Frederick I travelled from Stockholm to Hessen to be celebrated by his German subjects. In connection with this journey, special gold coins of the value of 10 ducat and silver coins of the value of a riksdaler were minted with two different motifs. (Fig. 7.1 and 7.3) These special coins were intended as gifts to the dignitaries who would meet with the King during his journey.7 King Frederick I passed through Lund on his way from Stockholm to Hessen and may very well have met with Stobæus, who since 1728 had been appointed Professor of Natural History and Physics at Lund University. There can be no doubt that the coin described in Locus VIII no. 2 was in fact one of the 10 ducat gold coins minted as special gifts for King Frederick’s Hessen journey, and it is likely that Stobæus received the coin as a gift from the King. The only known example of this coin type is at the Collection of Coins and Medals at Uppsala University (Fig. 7.1). It has so far not been possible to determine whether the unique gold coin in Uppsala originates from Stobæus’s collection, and if so, how

7 Frösell & Jonsson 1983, 156–7.

84 Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals

Fig. 7.4. King Gustav II Adolf of Sweden medal celebrating the Swedish victory over the Austrian army on 7 September 1631. Dia. 3.1 cm. Photo. Anna Malinowski, Historical Museum at Lund University.

it ended up in Uppsala. Curiously, the Collection of Coins and Medals at the His- torical Museum in Lund contains the only known example of the other type of 10 ducat minted coins in connection with the King’s journey to Hessen in 1731 (Fig. 7.3). Locus XII: ‘Nummi argentei Gustavi Adolphi’ no. 5: ‘Pag. 171. N. 1. Br’.8 Translation: Silver coins of Gustav Adolf. No. 5: Page 171 no. 1 in Brenner. Interpretation: The descriptions of many of the coins and medals, especially those in Locus XI–XV, are as in Locus XII no. 5 based on a reference to Brenner; this is certainly a reference to Elias Brenner’s Thesaurus nummorum Sveo-gothicorumfirst published in 1691, and reprinted by Brenner’s friend Nicolas Keder in 1731.9 When comparing the descriptions with Brenner’s catalogue, it is clear that the references in the inventory list from the purchase in 1745 refer to the 1731 edition of Brenner’s catalogue. Thus, it can be established that Locus XII no. 5 was a Gustav Adolf medal from 1632 celebrating the Swedish victory in 1631 over the Austrian army in the battle of Breitenfeld, near Leipzig (Fig. 7.4).10 Locus IX: ‘Nummi Argentei’ no. 19: ‘Duo Monetae Christierni inscriptae litera C’ and no. 21: ‘Septum nummi minors ejusdem Aevi cum incriptionibus obscuri- oribus’. Translation: Silver coins no. 19: Two coins of Christian with the letter C and no. 21: Seven smaller coins from the same period with indistinguishable legends. Interpretation: The coins described in no. 21 are probably two Danish Christian

8 Inventory 1745. 9 Berghaus 1994, 196. 10 Hildebrand 1874, 117–22.

85 Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals

Table 7.2. Summary of the number of coins and medals by type of metal composition. Copper/ Unknown Gold Silver bronze Iron Pewter Metal Total Swedish: Royal medals from Gustav I (1523- 2 65 104 1 2 174 60) to Frederick I (1721-51) Coins from Gustav I (1523-60) to 16 111 28 155 Frederick I (1721-51) Foreign: Medals 3 2 3 2 10 Russian medals 42 42 Coins 1 8 2 11 Private: Medals (both Swedish and foreign) 4 1 1 6 Jettons (Swedish) 4 4 ‘Historic’: Roman coins 2 1 3 Judaic shekel 1 1 Arabic coins (kufic dirhems?) 6 6 Danish coins from ca. 1150-1250 16 16 Swedish and Danish (small) coins 49 49 from 15th to 16th century Medieval German (or Danish) 15 15 bracteates Unidentified 25 Total 18 270 148 3 48 5 493

II coins of the type blaffert. This is a common type of coin, and the collection at the Historical Museum in Lund contains several examples. It is therefore not possible to determine whether any of the Christian II blaffert in the collection originates from Stobæus’s collection. The description of the seven coins in no. 21 leaves us with no other clues except that they are probably small silver coins of Christian II. In some cases, the coins described in the inventory would now be categorised as medals, as they were not intended for circulation as currency. Viewed with modern eyes, the content of the collection can be summarised as shown in Table 7.2. Clearly, the primary focus of the collection are the Swedish coins and medals from the kings and queens closest to Stobæus’s lifetime (see Tables 7.1 and 7.2). Thus, in contrast to some of the larger collections in Sweden at the time of Stobæus, his collection does not focus on coins of antiquity.11 This is perhaps a reflection of his historical interest, in as much as his medal and coin collection focused on Sweden. Nevertheless, in Locus XXIV, Stobæus had brought together several older coins. Here we find, for example, ‘five large…and one small Arabic silver coins.’ These may have been minted in the Samanid and Abbasid dynasties (the so-called kufic dirhems)

11 See, for example Nathorst-Böös & Wiséhn, 1987.

86 Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals which entered Scandinavia in large quantities during the Viking Age, primarily during the tenth century.12 Furthermore, 15 coins with ‘portraits of kings and bishops’ are described. These may be Danish medieval pennies from Valdemar I (1154–82) to Valdemar II (1202–41); the additional 13 bracteates may have been minted in Meck- lenburg (or perhaps in Denmark) in the fifteenth century.

Victories, scientists and nobilities – the medals in Stobæus’s collection In the beginning of the eighteenth century, the idea of a metallic history became quite popular in royal circles. The trend began with the publication of the book Médailles sur les principaux evénéments du règne de Louis le Grand 13, which outlines the medallic series of 286 medals, and the trend of medallic series with historic motifs was quickly copied by other European rulers.14 The medals in the Stobæus collection are mostly of the Baroque period (c. 1600–1750). The Baroque style medals tend to be larger than earlier medals and were well-suited for historical commemoration purposes and propaganda about the many battles fought at the end of the seventeenth and the beginning of eighteenth centuries in Northern Europe. The ideal was the French court style, as produced by the mint in Paris. In the Stobæus collection, the new trend of metallic history is exemplified in Locus II–V, with the medallic series in copper celebrating the reign of Swedish monarchs by the Swiss Artist Johann C. Hedlinger and by the Swedish medallist Arvid Karlsteen, commissioned by C.R. Berch (see Tables 7.1 and 7.2).15 Many of the silver medals in Sto- bæus’s collection were engraved by Hedlinger (1691–1771). Trained at the Paris Mint, Hedlinger became court medallist for the Swedish court. His portraits were renowned as the most elegant and lifelike. The Hedlinger medals in the collection are all historic medals (Fig. 7.5). Stobæus’ genealogical and antiquarian interests are clearly visible in the specific medals of his collection. There is a heavy emphasis on Sweden and the Swedish royal house as well as medals minted in commemoration of historical events relating to Sweden. The 42 Russian pewter medals in Locus XXV and XXVI (Table 7.1), however, deviate from this pattern. They represent a suite of Russian medals commissioned by Tsar Peter the Great to commemorate Russian victories in the wars against Sweden

12 See, for example Kilger 2008. 13 Simonneau et al. 1702. 14 Stahl 2015, 4–9. 15 See, for example Felder 1978 for the medals of Hedlinger and Stenström, 1944 for the medals of Karlsteen

87 Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals

Fig. 7.5. Medal of the Swiss medallist Hedlinger from 1733 commemorating the founding of Lund Uni- versity in 1668. The medal was commissioned by the Swedish King Frederick I (1720–51) to celebrate the swift and successful integration of Scania, Halland and Blekinge into the Swedish realm after repeated wars between Denmark and Sweden during the seventeenth century. Dia. 2 cm. Photo. Anna Malinowski, Historical Museum at Lund University. and crafted by the renowned medallic artist H. Müller in Augsburg/Nürnberg.16 Tsar Peter the Great introduced medallic art in Russia, as a part of his efforts to integrate Russia with Europe. The suite of medals commemorating the Russian victories over Sweden in the Great Northern War were the start of this propaganda project. The medals are traditionally divided into those minted abroad and those minted in Rus- sia. The Stobæus’s examples seem to have been minted outside Russia.17 Stobæus’s interest in local history and science is further reflected in his choice of medals. For example, the collection includes a few medals of local Swedish nobilities (Table 7.1, Locus XXIII). Among these, we find a medal of Count Gustav O. Sten- bock (d. 1685). He became the governor of the Scania provinces in the period 1658– 64, and then chancellor of Lund University from 1666 to 1685. Thus, Stobæus’s interest in the history of the university might be an explanation for the acquisition of the medal. The collection included only two papal medals, one of Pope Clemens XI (1649–1721) and one of Pope Innocens XI (1611–89). Clemens XI was known for his interest in science and in antiquity. He expanded the Vatican libraries and was one of the first antiquarians to sponsor excavation work in Rome. Both popes frequent- ed the Academy of Acadia, founded by the Queen Christina of Sweden (who reigned from 1644 to 1654).18

16 Ossbahr 1927, 20–1. 17 Ossbahr 1927, 21–2. 18 Loughlin 1913; Petersson 2013, section 5.

88 Reconstructing Stobæus’s lost collection of coins and medals Even though only a fraction of Stobæus’s medals and coins with certainty can be located today, the analysis of the 1745 inventory gives a very detailed picture of the collections’ composition. The collection clearly reflects Stobæus’s interest in science and local history and his taxonomic capabilities.

89 Fig. 8.1. One of the crocodiles that belonged to the Museum Stobæanum since 1735. Today in the collections of the Biological Museum in Lund (L735/3007). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

90 8. The crocodile

Ulf Johansson Dahre

Now the ‘marvel’—or ‘monster’—is essentially that which transgresses the separation of realms, mixes the animal and the vegetable, the animal and the human; it is excess, since it changes the quality of the things to which God has assigned a name: it is metamorphosis, which turns one order into another.

— Roland Barthes, The Responsibility of Forms, translated by Richard Howard, 1985.

The riddle of the crocodile in the Kilian Stobæus’s cabinet The Museum Stobæanum had a crocodile swinging in the ceiling for many years. It is not displayed anymore. However, the history and origin of the crocodile in the Stobæus cabinet is worth exploring, even if it is unclear and confusing. According to the museum records, the first crocodile arrived in Lund in 1718. Bishop Henric Benzelius had been traveling through Europe, the Middle East and Egypt between the years 1712 and 1718 and had collected many natural history objects and specimens, including a crocodile. According to the records, Benzelius arrived in the Egyptian port town of Damietta in 1716. From Damietta, he travelled to Cairo. He also spent some time in Suez, journeyed to Sinai, and visited the monks at Horeb. He then returned to Cairo and later departed Egypt from Alexandria. Somewhere along this journey, he obtained a crocodile.1 It is unlikely that this was the same specimen that, until recently, had been hanging from the ceiling of the Historical museum at Lund University. There are various

1 Löwegren 1952, 84.

91 The crocodile

Fig. 8.2. A crocodilian from the collections of the Biological Museum in Lund. Photo: LUHM

kinds of information about crocodiles in different inventories over the years. In 1743, when the entire collection had been packed into nine chests2, registrar Daniel F. Kehler mentioned as many as four crocodiles in the collections of the cabinet (Fig. 8.1). When the museum inventory was reviewed in 1753, only three crocodiles were noted. In the 1759 inventory, however, four crocodiles were noted once again. Where these three or four crocodiles came from remains unclear. The 1780 inventory records three crocodiles in glass cases. These were supposedly quite small specimens, and none of them can be the crocodile brought to Lund by Bishop Benzelius. It is possible that some of these specimens were alligators, as the one that was hanging until recently from the museum’s ceiling (Fig. 8.2), although one must acknowledge that very few objects came from America to Lund during the first half of the eighteenth century.3 What happened to the crocodile that Bishop Benzelius brought to Lund? Where did the other specimens come from? The riddle of the origins of the crocodiles thus goes unanswered so far. Let us instead explore the question of why this fascination with crocodiles at all. What did it mean to hang a crocodile in the ceiling of a cabinet of curiosities? The crocodile in Lund reflects a general fascination with this animal. It now seems that having a stuffed crocodile was almost mandatory for any serious curiosity collector during the Renaissance and the early Enlightenment periods. Little wonder that a crocodile, symbolizing the element of fire, is visible in the upper right corner in the portrait of Stobæus.4

2 See also Manhag, chapter 4 in this volume. 3 See Manhag, chapter 4 this volume. 4 See Naum, chapter 2, Fig. 2.1, this volume.

92 The crocodile Crocodiles and other monsters in the cabinets of curiosities

The gigantic, exotic crocodile was, and maybe still is, an object of fascination. Since antiquity, monsters have always been strangers. The crocodile is obviously a monster of some kind, even if it is also just an animal. Early in the history of the cabinet of curiosities, the crocodile became an almost mandatory object of display, stuffed and hanging from the ceiling. It also found a place in pharmacies, for it was also believed that the crocodile had healing powers.5 Crocodiles were also valued by artists and writers, drawn and included in cabinets’ catalogues as well as in other books—notably those dealing with recent discoveries in the so-called New World. An important part of the cabinet was its expressed idea and taste for everything that transgressed the norm. A common perception was that the crocodile was a mutant or an omen, referred to as ‘grotesque,’ a term originating from the strange illustrations in the caverns of Rome called ‘grottoes’. Hence the name ‘grotesque’ given to these decorations.6 Early in the sixteenth century, cabinet of curiosities rooms were full of riddles to be answered. Among the most exotic of these riddles, and the most frequently encountered in cabinets of curiosities, was the crocodile. They were extravagantly sized, often occupying a large part of the cabinet, dominating the space from their location in the ceiling (Fig. 8.3). During the Age of Discovery, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, explorers brought home stories of real and fabled animals: elephants, the dugong, which was promoted to the rank of mermaid; and sea calves, which were actually seals.7 All were exhibited in cabinets of curiosities and entered into catalogues, together with the more familiar animals. The legend of the Bird of Paradise, claiming that the bird had no legs and lived constantly flying, is illustrative. This riddle was later demysti- fied in the seventeenth century. It was then shown that the bird-of-paradise actually had legs, but that hunters, in order to sustain a lucrative legend, had amputated them. The bird-of-paradise became included in many cabinets. In the portrait of Stobæus, it can also be seen to symbolize the element of air.8 The crocodile also raised questions in the mind of the Spanish Jesuit José de Acosta (c. 1539–1600), a missionary in South America and the author of the Natural and Moral History of the Indies (1590), in which he noted that the Bible did not mention the crocodile. It seems, argued Acosta, that Noah embarked on his Ark

5 Davenne & Fleurent 2011, 133. 6 Davenne & Fleurent 2011, 142–3. 7 Greenblatt 1991, 14. 8 Naum, chapter 2, Fig. 2.1 this volume.

93 The crocodile

Fig. 8.3. Engraving from Ferrante Imperato, Dell’Historia Naturale (1599) depicting interior of his museum and a crocodile as a centrepiece. with wolves, tigers, and other dangerous animals. Why was the crocodile not included as part of Noah’s rescue mission? If Noah indeed saved the crocodile from the Flood, why was it not mentioned? Since the Bible cannot lie, said Acosta, how do we date the crocodile’s arrival into the world? What is its nature: animal, mineral, or both?9 Swinging from the ceiling in the cabinets, the crocodile obviously raised questions about its origins and its hybrid nature, as well as puzzled about its place in the natural order. Renaissance men could question the world, for God had allowed humans to try to discover divine riddles. This interest in the material world that emerged during the seventeenth century moved from an arbitrary universe, in which material objects could appear randomly according to God’s will, to a world where material objects were understandable, with discoverable and predictable causes and effects.10

9 Davenne & Fleurent 2011, 126–9. 10 Pearce 2010, 13.

94 The crocodile Monsters: a warning from God

Cabinets of curiosities, in general, were organized to emphasize affinity between seemingly distant objects. The purpose was to show the fundamental unity behind art and natural objects.11 There have been many attempts to explain the fascination with crocodiles. One obvious interpretation would be that crocodiles are monsters. The fascination with monsters is undoubtedly as old as the human existence. We meet stories of monsters as early as in ancient Greek mythology, as in Hesiod’s poem of Theogony, composed around 700 BC. Hesiod’s flesh eating Echidna was half-py- thon, half-nymph who mated with Typhon and gave birth to monsters such as Cerberus and Hydra. There are also early one-eyed giants in Japanese myths and many monstrous creatures supposedly living in Asia. A prominent place in mythology and folklore of Asia and Europe take dragons.12 From artists such as Hieronymus Bosch (c.1450–1516) and Giuseppe Arcimboldo (c. 1527–93), to the surrealists of the early twentieth century by way of Odilon Redon (1840–1916), drawings and images of monsters have given shape to our fears. Monsters were viewed as an expression of the conflict between our individual desires and collective ethics, the constant fight between good and evil, or the battle between order and chaos. Monsters are creatures that violate the laws of nature or religious apprehension. The Old Testament speaks about clean and unclean animals and mentions giant land and sea monsters as Be- hemoth and Leviathan. In the New Testament, the Revelation of St. John contains a description of the seven-headed beast. Later in history, we are, of course, to meet the story of St. George and the Dragon. It seems like parts of human knowledge have always been fruitful ground for the imagination of monsters. The Roman historian Pliny, writing his Natural History in in the first century AD, describes the monstrous human races that lurked on the peripheries of Roman civilization. Peoples who threatened the present order were considered monsters. Sometimes they were also called barbarians, which according to Aristotle, were people coming from the other side of the ocean. The medieval world did not seem to have questioned this description. Strange Gods and cultural rituals were a cause of wonder and fear. The Swiss naturalist Conrad Gesner (1516– 65), credited for being one of the first in the sixteenth century to make a proper zoological study (Historiæ animalium), also described imagined beasts and hydras. These were creatures he obviously had never seen, but people were quite convinced that they existed somewhere. Another important figure of the Renaissance era was the Italian naturalist Ulisse Aldrovandi (1522–1605), who helped to develop modern

11 Mauries 2002, 34. 12 Dell 2016, 6–9; Yuriko 2019.

95 The crocodile

Fig. 8.4. A two footed marine dragon – one of the monsters depicted in Ulisse Aldrovandi’s Mon- strorum Historia (1642). botany. Aldrovandi also wrote books about monsters, such as Monstrorum Historia (1642), illustrated with a lively imagination (Fig. 8.4). The medical doctor Ambroise Paré (c. 1510–90) reported on remarkable births as a cause of supernatural influenc- es. In his treatise On Monsters and Marvels (1573), Paré defined monsters as things that appear outside the course of nature. Perhaps it is here that we can understand the fascination for crocodiles. Crocodiles were quite new experiences for most Eu- ropeans during the Renaissance. They differed from other creatures and their essence was monstrous. Crocodiles did not fit with the Biblical and other stories of the world at that time. They were just anomalies. What was God’s meaning of creating such a monster?13 As the fascination with monsters continued into the Renaissance, their status changed to some extent. While Antiquity and the Middle Ages saw monsters as omens or signs announcing God’s designs and warnings, the monster of the Renais- sance tended to be treated as food for thought. In the sixteenth century, nature’s irregularities were also considered as intriguing traits of a world that had become observable. Monsters were to be exhibited in cabinets of curiosities, sometimes as examples of practical jokes carried out by nature or by God. The discoveries of Co- lumbus and other explorers fed the imagination. In their wake, the emerging ‘science’ of monsters found at numerous cabinets of curiosities around Europe attempted to categorize and explain these monsters. The monster was supposed to provide scientific explanations at a time when science and myth were not contradictory.

13 Davenne & Fleurent 2011, 129, 133, 136, 142.

96 The crocodile Today we might argue that these monsters were simply fake. At that time, however, monsters were scientific riddles. In the seventeenth century, scientists were beginning to have doubts about the existence of monsters. Cartographers started to remove the sea monsters from the edges of the maps of the world.14 However, nineteenth century Europe, influenced by Romanticism, experienced a new interest in monsters. Maybe the first masterpiece of this renewed trend was Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein published in 1818, probably the first attempt to understand the psychol- ogy of a monster. Some decades later came the story of Dracula the vampire, by Bram Stoker (1897). The end of the nineteenth century also saw stories like Herbert G. Wells’s The Island of Doctor Moreau (1896), where the mad scientist played God, creating hybrids of animals and humans. The monster also appears in modern psy- chology. Carl G. Jung argued that monsters were essential to our development as humans. For Jung, the monster represents the ‘otherness’ within ourselves, the distinction between the light day-world and the dark night-world. Today, monsters are included in the work of many artists. In 1992, the artist Thomas Grünfeld produced a series of preserved animals in display cases. The monster here was as an individual, distinct and original. The monster remains something different from what is considered normal and conventional. But at the same time we remain both horrified and fascinated by the monster. From this, we might learn that the monster, the one outside and perhaps the one deep within us, is an essential part of being human. In a time when we are supposed to reveal fake news and present genuine facts, it might be argued that the image of the monster has lost its natural place in society. At the same time, we know that many people still believe in astrology, reincarnation, Nessie the Loch Ness monster, UFOs, a flat earth, and that public employment offices in Sweden offer courses on how to become a witch. This implies that we as human beings perhaps always need to project ourselves from the irrational, monstrous and magical dimensions of life. Perhaps this is why a crocodile hung from the ceiling of the Museum Stobæanum.

14 Dell 2016, 194.

97 Fig. 9.1. ‘A piece of Descartes’s skull’, according to the 1780 inventory of Museum Stobæanum, inscribed on the inside with ‘Cartesi – döskalla 1691. No 6’. (LUHM 508). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

98 9. The true skull of Descartes? – A source critical study

Andreas Manhag & Per Karsten

In the 1790s, the body of the renowned philosopher and mathematician René Des- cartes (1596–1650) was exhumed from his resting place in the burial vault in the choir of the former abbey church Sainte-Geneviève in Paris.1 The exhumation was an act of rescue from the ravages of the French Revolution, conducted by the archaeologist and collector Alexandre Lenoir (1761–1839). Lenoir noticed that the remains were in a very poor state, consisting only of parts of a tibia and a femur. A supposed small section of the frontal bone from the skull was also discovered, from which Lenoir made some finger rings. The rest of the skeleton was transferred to an antique Ro- man sarcophagus, which in 1795 was placed in the garden in Lenoir’s Musée des Monuments Français.2 The remains of Descartes had rested in Sainte-Geneviève since 1667, following the first exhumation in 1666, from his original resting place at the orphanage cemetery belonging to Sankta Klara’s parish in Stockholm (Fig. 9.2).3 The coffin buried in 1667 had been made of copper and contained a written protocol. However, the coffin exhumed in the 1790s was made of wood and did not contain any protocol. Thus, it was most likely not Descartes that was exhumed by Lenoir in the 1790s. Descartes is probably still lying buried underneath the Rue Clovis, the street that was paved over the abbey church in 1807.4

1 Rebuilt in 1758–90 and renamed Panthéon in 1791. 2 Rodis-Lewis 1998, 204–5. 3 Descartes died in Stockholm while visiting the court of Queen Christina. 4 Ahlström et al. 1983, 27.

99 The true skull of Descartes

Fig. 9.2. Descartes’s original wooden sarcophagus constructed in 1650 by the French envoy Pierre Chanut (1601–62) at Sankta Klara’s orphanage cemetery in Stockholm (presently Adolf Fredrik cemetery), demolished around the end of the seventeenth century. Copper engraving by J. Wimer in Jöran Andersson Nordberg’s S. Clarae Minne (1727).

The ‘Paris skull’

In the winter of 1819, the supposed remains of Descartes were exhumed once again, and transferred to their present resting place in the former abbey church of Saint- Germain-des-Prés.5 During the procedure, conducted in the presence of the author- ities and representatives of learned societies, it became apparent that the fragmented remains were missing its skull. The suspicion arose that the skull had probably been removed already in 1666, in connection with the first exhumation of the corpse in

5 Rodis-Lewis 1998, 204–5.

100 The true skull of Descartes Stockholm.6 As it happened, the ‘Father of Swedish Chemistry’, Professor Jöns J. Berzelius (1779–1848) was in Paris at the same time. Since he had never heard of such a relic kept in Sweden, he was much annoyed by the suspicion of this ‘wretched robbery’.7 Much later, in 1844, Berzelius recalled and recorded the events that were to follow. According to Berzelius, within a week of his return to Sweden, he was astonished to come across an article in the newspaper Argus, stating that ‘on the auction after the late Professor Sparrman, the skull of Descartes had been sold for 18 rdr 36 sk. B:ko’.8 Berzelius took it upon himself ‘to try and rectify what a Swede had broken more than 160 years ago’.9 He discovered that the skull had been purchased by a certain ‘Arngren’, a ‘famed’ owner of a gambling house, as he put it. Berzelius convinced Arngren of the importance of returning the skull to France and was able to purchase it from him for the very same sum Arngren had paid.10 Berzelius was not aware of it at the time, but the history of this skull had already been described in 1808, in a footnote of a dissertation by Professor Nils H. Sjöborg (1767–1838), head of the Historical Museum in Lund, and the student Bengt J:son Bergqvist (1785–1847). At that time, the skull was in the collection of Professor Anders Sparrman (1748–1820) in Stockholm. According to information provided by Sparrman, it had previously been in the possession of Johan Fischerström (1735–96), and then of one Ahlgren, who in turn donated it to Sparrman.11 The skull is more or less an intact cranium, yellowish-brownish in colour, lacking only the teeth and the lower jaw (Fig. 9.3). Berzelius never doubted its authenticity, since the names of six individuals, several of whom were eminent Swedish scholars and assumed to be previous owners of the skull, were inscribed on it.12 Here follows

6 Mannström 1924, 5–6. 7 Palmstedt 1866, 4. This, and all the following translations, are by the authors. 8 This was in fact the exact sum paid. According to the Argus-article of 14 March 1821, however, it was ‘supposedly paid for with around 17 or 18 Riksdaler Banko’ (Ahlström et al. 1983, 27). Berzelius returned in the autumn of 1819. Anders Sparrman died on 9 August 1820, and the article in Argus was published on 14 March 1821. We can thus conclude that Berzelius must have been mistaken when recalling the exact dates. 9 Palmstedt 1866, 4. 10 Palmstedt 1866, 4. Arngren’s full name was Anders Andersson Ahrengren (1770–1841). The name and character ‘Arngren’ was memorialized in the novel Vålnaden from 1847 by August Blanche, who was actually acquainted with him during his final years. Arngren’s gambling house also served as a brothel, and even though both activities were strictly forbidden, his establishment was highly fre- quented by the Stockholm upper classes, see Lindahl 1900, 233–44. 11 Sjöborg & Bergqvist 1808, 14–5. 12 Palmstedt 1866, 4.

101 The true skull of Descartes

Fig. 9.3. The Paris skull at the Musée de l´Homme. From Charlier et al. 2017. a transcription of the texts and names found on the Paris skull, as documented by Sparrman in 1808, by Carl Palmstedt on 30 March 1821, and as recalled by Berzelius in 1844:13 The first text tells the background story: ‘The skull of Cartesius, taken by Is. Planström, as the body was to be transported to France in 1666, and since kept here in Stockholm’.14 The second text is a poetic verse in Latin:

13 Sjöborg & Bergqvist 1808, 15; Palmstedt, 1866, 2, 5. 14 ‘Cartesii skalle, tillvaratagen af Is. Planström, då liket åhr 1666 skulle föras till Frankrike, och sedan här i Stockholm förvarad.’

102 The true skull of Descartes

‘Parvula Cartesii fuit hæc calvaria Magni, Gravius reliquias Gallia busto tegit. Sed laus ingenii toto diffunditur orbe, Mirisque in coelis mens pia semper ovat.’15

This is followed by the names of the supposed six previous owners: ‘Is. Planström’, ‘J. Hægerflycht’, ‘Arckenholtz’ 16, ‘Anders Anton von Stierneman 1751’, ‘Ol. Celsius’, ‘J. Åhgren 1797.’ 17 In April 1821, the skull was delivered to the Académie des Sciences, along with Berzelius’s request that it be laid in the coffin.18 Based on research carried out by Alexandre-Maurice Blanc de Lanautte, the Academy soon concluded that the skull was most likely genuine.19 Since then, and in general, the Paris skull is regarded as the true skull of Descartes.20 However, there is a major problem with the names found inscribed on the Paris skull. Initially they seem to provide an aura of authenticity, but closer investigation actually indicate that they offer the exact opposite. In order to explain these ques- tionable indications, we must first examine the historical sources relating to the other known piece of Descartes’s skull, kept at the Historical Museum at Lund University.

The ‘Lund skull’ The skull piece in the Historical Museum consists of a fragment of a whitish-greyish human left parietal bone, measuring 140 x 132 mm (Fig. 9.4). On its inner surface is an inscription reading: ‘Cartesi – döskalla 1691. No 6.’ (Fig. 9.1). It is clear from ocular observation that the fragment must have been produced through so called ‘skull blasting’ – an old method to crack open skulls into suitable pieces for the purpose of anatomical investigations, or for the production of relics. This gentle

15 ‘The little skull once belonged to the great Cartesius, the other remains are hidden far away in France. But over the earthly sphere his genius is still praised and his spirit rejoices in the heavenly sphere’ (from the Swedish translation in Ahlström et al. 1983, 29). 16 Documented by Sparrman, beneath the name of Hägerflycht (Sjöborg & Bergqvist 1808, 14–5). In 1844, Berzelius also recollected the name of Arckenholtz on the skull, but it was not documented by Palmstedt (Palmstedt 1866, 5). It is still partly legible as ‘Arcke…’, see Ahlström et al. 1983, 30. 17 Probably misread from ‘Ahlgren’. Not recorded by Sjöborg & Bergqvist in 1808, although the text mentions as owner ‘Ahlgren, Adsessore Consilii Urbici’ (p. 15). 18 Palmstedt 1866, 4–5. Berzelius´s request was never fulfilled. Instead, the skull ended up in the Musée de l´Homme, where it is still on display today. 19 Charlier 2017, 13. 20 Ahlström et al. 1983, 44.

103 The true skull of Descartes

Fig. 9.4. ‘A piece of Descartes’s skull’ (LUHM 508), according to the museum inventory of 1780. Length: 140, width: 132 mm. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

method consists of filling the skull with dry peas or millet grains, then adding water and waiting for the grains to swell. The skull will then subsequently crack along the lines of the sutures.21 The greyish colour indicates that the bone does originate from a coffin placed above ground. This was also the case with the coffin of Descartes, originally placed in an elevated wooden sarcophagus in Stockholm between 1650 and 1666. In 1768, Gjörwell specifically stated that Descartes never lay in the ground, but inside the monument.22According to the description and illustration of the monument, provided by the eyewitness Jöran A:son Nordberg in 1727 (Fig. 9.2), the sarcophagus was constructed of thick oak boards and rested on a simple wooden platform elevated 60 cm above ground. Its very large size, 2.7 m long, 1.5 m wide and 2.4 m high, supports the statement by Gjörwell that the coffin was indeed located within the monument.23

21 Ahlström et al. 1983, 40. 22 Ahlström et al. 1983, 42. In spite of this Ahlström et al. (1983, 25) assume that the grave was probably not located within the wooden grave monument, but in a shallow grave dug beneath it during the extremely cold winter of 1650. 23 Nordberg 1727, 193; Mannström 1924, 26–33.

104 The true skull of Descartes

Fig. 9.5. ‘A large wooden cup’ (LUHM 3150), according to the museum catalogue of 1780. The inscription ‘No 37.’ is barely visible on the lower left side. This number does not refer to an inventory of either Museum Stobæanum or the Historical Museum. It was most likely written on the cup already on its arrival at the museum prior to 1780. Height: 302 mm. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

The parietal bone first appears in the museum inventory of 1780, described as: ‘A piece of Descartes’s skull, with a Latin verse Parvula Cartesii &c. as well as directions to those authors who mention this antiquity. Given by the Bishop’s wife, born von Stiernman, which had inherited it from her father the Deputy Director’.24 The Bishop’s wife proper name was Andreetta Katarina Celsius (1734–1815), daughter to Anders Anton von Stiernman (1695–1765). Her husband since 1766, the bishop Olof

24 ‘Ett stycke af Cartesii hufvud skål, med en Latinsk vers. Parvula Cartesii &c. samt anvisning på de Auctorer h.... denna antiquitet ... . Gifwen af Fru Biskoppinnan Celsius född von Stjernman hwilken efter sin Fader Herr Cancellie Rådet fått den.’

105 The true skull of Descartes

Fig. 9.6. A note with Hof’s Latin verse, as well as references to the skull in Arckenholtz’s work. Pho- to LUHM.

Celsius the younger (1716–94), took office in Lund in April 1779. Consequently, the parietal bone was most likely donated in 1779 or 1780. During the following 40 years, this relic of Descartes was one of the most highly esteemed heirlooms of the university.25 However, following Berzelius’s donation of the Paris skull to France in 1821, it soon came to be regarded as an embarrassing forgery instead, and it has been described as such ever since.26 According to the inventory of 1780, only four artefacts had been added to the collection since the year 1763. One of them was ‘A piece of Descartes’s skull’ (LUHM 508). Another was ‘A large cup of wood’ (LUHM 3150, Fig. 9.5).27 Several clues suggest a connection between the skull and the cup. Considering the sculpted skull on the lid of the cup, as well as its size, it is reasonable to suggest that it originally contained the fragmented skull, as a form of reliquary. In fact, it is a case of a perfect fit. The inner diameter is 150 mm, whereas the skull fragment measures 140 x 132 mm. A remarkable feature of the otherwise plain cup is the comparatively detailed

25 According to a letter from Count H. G. Trolle-Wachtmeister, sent to Berzelius in 1821, the Vice-Chancellor and the Consistory at Lund University swore to its authenticity, see Ahlström et al. 1983, 35. 26 Tegnér 1871, 10–1; Fürst 1908, 874–5; Rydbeck 1943, 268; Ahlström et al. 1983, 44. 27 The two others were wooden spoons, probably from Russia (LUHM 487 and 489).

106 The true skull of Descartes

Fig. 9.7. Johan Arckenholtz. Copper engraving by W. C. Mayr after 1753.

little skull on the lid. The artist has actually marked out the sutures of the cranium, possibly suggesting a relationship between the cup and its supposed content. According to Sjöborg & Bergqvist, the accompanying handwritten note (Fig. 9.6), which is mentioned in the 1780 inventory entry, was attached to the parietal bone, and was written in the handwriting of Johan Arckenholtz (1695–1777, Fig. 9.7), as compared with his original manuscript in the collection of von Engeström.28

28 Sjöborg & Bergqvist 1808, 15–6. Belonging to the Lund skull is also a second note which reads ‘by Archenholtz …, and compared with his manuscript of Memoires de Christine, as well as: court chancellor v. Engeströms library in Stockholm and with another manuscript by him at. Nescher.’ This obviously refers to the handwriting of the first note.

107 The true skull of Descartes The reference in the note is to Arckenholtz’s internationally famous publication about Queen Christina from 1751 (Volume 1), in which the exact same Latin poem appears.29 According to Arckenholtz he had been informed about these verses by one ‘Herr Hoff’, most properly Sven Hof (1703–86), teacher at the cathedral school in Skara. Hof had seen the skull in the collection of a friend in Stockholm, after which he composed the verses, which he intended to ‘place above it’. According to Arckenholtz, it was an officer of the City Guard of Stockholm who had taken the head in connection with the transfer to France. After the death of the guard, the creditors took possession of the skull. Later, Arckenholtz specified that the name of the officer was Isaak Planström.30 This exact same information was in fact published in 1750, by Hof himself, and his friend in Stockholm, the owner of the skull, was actually named Jonas O:son Bång.31 In 1760, Arckenholtz wrote that during his last visit in Sweden, in 1754, he himself acquired a piece of the skull, whilst the other part was at that time in the possession of von Hägerflycht.32 Wheth- er or not any of these two pieces were identical to the skull owned by Olofsson Bång is impossible to ascertain. Let us now return to the inscription on the Lund skull. What can it tell us? We have a date – 1691 – and a number – 6, but there is also the word ‘döskalla’, which is an older spelling form of the modern word ‘dödskalle’.33 The archaic spelling supports the dating of 1691. This particular year is also significant considering the wrong statement made by Hof in 1750, that the corpse of Descartes was transferred to France 40 years after his death, i.e., around 1690. Carl G. Ahlström et al. interpret this as an indication that the person who wrote the inscription on the Lund skull may also have been aware of this erroneous information.34 However, since the theft of the skull was not public knowledge until Hof’s publication in 1750, a far more likely explanation is that the cranium that Hof saw at his friend Bång was actually a piece of the cranium, which displayed the same inscription as the Lund skull, ‘Cartesi – döskalla 1691.’ This could have led Hof to the erroneous conclusion that Descartes’s remains were sent to France around 1690. Furthermore, Ahlström et al. interpret ‘No. 6’ as a number within a private collection, since they presume that the parietal bone was probably part of the Hägerflycht collection in 1691.35 Again, this is pure speculation. It is more likely that the parietal

29 Arckenholtz 1751, 232. 30 Arckenholtz 1751, 232; 1761, 311. 31 Published in Lars Salvius Lärda Tidningar 1750, no. 27, 107–8, see Ahlström et al. 1983, 30. 32 Arckenholtz 1760, 311. 33 This was also noted by Ahlström et al. 1983, 43. 34 Ahlström et al. 1983, 47 (note 29). 35 Ahlström et al. 1983, 37–8.

108 The true skull of Descartes bone was part of a set of six or more fragments, derived through the blasting of the cranium. This theory is supported by Arckenholtz’s claim that he knew of another ‘piece’ of Descartes’s skull in the Hägerflycht collection, not an entire cranium.36 There- fore, it is quite possible that the year 1691 is the year when the crania was split open. If we are allowed to speculate in the same manner as Ahlström et al., we know from the publications of Hof in 1750 and Arckenholtz in 1751 that Planström was plagued by debt collectors. Perhaps the fragmenting of the skull and selling of several relics was an attempt to increase the profit. A more thorough look into the archives could help us determine the fate of Descartes’s skull after its theft by Planström in 1666. The brief and ‘to the point’-type of inscription found inside the Lund skull is in many ways the exact opposite of the multitude of inscriptions found on the Paris skull. Whereas the Paris skull is littered with the background history, the poem, as well as all the names that were publically known to have been connected with the various pieces of the skull, the single inscription on the Lund skull is not related to any previously known facts or dates. The content and spelling of the inscription, however, lead us to conclude that it is in fact authentic.

Source critical evidence According to the published first-hand sources from the eighteenth century, the existence of three complete or fragmented skulls of Descartes have been historically documented: 1. A skull owned by Bång (seen by and published by Sven Hof in 1750); 2. Arckenholtz’s piece of a skull, which he purchased in 1754 (information published by him in 1760); 3. The Hägerflycht family’s piece of a skull (known by Arckenholtz and published by him in 1760). Physically, there exist two known specimens: the ‘Lund skull’ and the ‘Paris skull’, researched since the beginning of the nineteenth century. Unfortunately, the foundation of all source critical conclusions published so far has been based on the assumption that the inscriptions found on the Paris skull are authentic.37 We claim the opposite, that they are in fact forgeries. In 1808, a dissertation concerning the Lund skull was published by Sjöborg and Bergqvist. The historical information presented in this dissertation is identical to that recorded by Sjöborg in the museum inventory of 1805/1806.38 Thus, it appear that Sjöborg is the source of several erroneous deductions. Among many things, he speculated that the entire skull was in the possession of the Hägerflycht family in

36 Arckenholtz 1760, 311. 37 Ahlström et al. 1983; Shorto 2008. 38 Sjöborg & Bergqvist 1808, 14–5; Inventory 1805/1806.

109 The true skull of Descartes 1754. He wrote that Arckenholtz bought half of it from them that same year and that Arckenholtz gave his piece to von Stiernman. Furthermore, he claimed that Bishop Celsius inherited it from von Stiernman’s daughter upon their marriage, and that this daughter, as a widow, donated it to the university after the death of the bishop in 1794.39 Most of Sjöborg’s conclusions are wrong. Primarily they are based on the inscribed names on the Paris skull, only with a selective use of information provided by Arck- enholtz in 1751 and 1760, as well as the inventory of 1780. Sjöborg claims incorrectly that the entire skull was in the possession of Hägerflycht, and that Arckenholtz bought half of it. In 1760, Arckenholtz specifically stated that he had bought ‘one piece’ in 1754, whereas ‘the other piece’ was in the possession of Hägerflycht.40 He never insin- uated a connection between the two pieces, and evidently the two known physical skulls do not belong together, since the Paris skull does not lack the left parietal bone. Furthermore, considering Arckenholtz specific information on a ‘piece’, it is highly unlikely that this would refer to the more or less complete Paris skull. Sjöborg’s claim that the Lund skull was in the possession of Bishop Olof Celsius is also inaccurate. According to the inventory of 1780, it is made absolutely clear that it was von Stiernman’s daughter, not the bishop, who owned the skull. Furthermore, it is evident that she donated it prior to 1780, not as a widow after the death of the bishop in 1794. It is very likely that Sjöborg, in his description of the history of the Lund skull, simply incorporated the information provided by the inscription of ‘Ol. Celsius.’ found on the Paris skull.41 Half a century later, an alternative, but equally impossible explanation to the inscribed names on the Paris skull was presented by the physician Peter Olof Liljew- alch (1807–77). His study on the history of the skulls of Descartes was based on the same sources used by Sjöborg, and his conclusions were very much the same.42 Sjöborg, who apparently had never seen the intact Paris skull, but only accessed the information via Sparrman, assumed that the Lund parietal bone was originally part of the Paris skull. Liljewalch however, who knew that they did not belong together, claimed that Hägerflycht must have been the owner of both – the Paris and the Lund skull. Liljewalch concluded that Arckenholtz probably bought his piece (the Lund skull) from Hägerflycht in 1754. He speculated that since both these specimens also were connected to von Stiernman, the latter must have bought the complete Paris

39 Inventory 1805/1806, inv. nr. 44. 40 Arckenholtz 1760, 311. 41 Sjöborg & Bergqvist 1808, 15; Palmstedt 1866, 2. 42 Unfortunately, Liljewalch’s research material, which is kept in the archive of the Lund University Library, has been treated uncritically in the contemporary research conducted by Ahlström et al. (1983) and Shorto (2008).

110 The true skull of Descartes skull from Hägerflycht. Liljewalch further speculated that when Arckenholtz heard about this, and realized that he had been fooled, he probably gave his parietal bone to von Stiernman ‘in anger’. However, since the name of Arckenholtz appears on the Paris skull, Liljewalch fantastically assumed that von Stiernman, as a token of appreciation, gave Arckenholtz the permission to write his name on the Paris skull which he supposedly bought in 1751 (according to the inscription). This conclusion is of course completely preposterous, but the only one that make any sense of presence of the names of Arckenholtz and von Stiernman on the Paris skull. Liljewalch concluded his study by claiming that after von Stiernman’s death both specimens ended up in the collection of Olof Celsius. Following his death in 1794, his widow finally donated the parietal bone to Lund University, whereas the complete cranium somehow ended up in the collection of Fischerström in Stockholm.43 Liljewalch thus arrived at the conclusion that the families of Hägerflycht, von Stiernman and Celsius must have owned both known physical specimens in succes- sion. However, this supposed ownership could only be linked together through an impossibly elaborate system, bordering on the ridiculous. No historical source mention that both specimens were in the possession of one owner. On the contrary, the historical sources refer without exception only to single parts of skulls in the possession of these families. We must conclude that of the six inscriptions on the Paris skull, four are definitely forgeries: ‘J. Hægerflycht’, ‘Arckenholtz’, ‘Anders Anton von Stierneman 1751’ and ‘Ol. Celsius’. Regarding the alleged connection between these four names, we can add the following. First, according to Arckenholtz, there was no specified connection between the fragment of skull purchased by him in 1754 and the fragment owned by Hägerflycht. Second, the names von Stiernman and Celsius are actually connected to the Lund skull. Third, at least one of the two inscriptions ‘Anders Anton von Stierneman 1751’ and ‘Arckenholtz’ must be false, since the latter specified that he only purchased his piece of skull in 1754, and since it is known that von Stiernman owned his piece until his death in 1765.44 Fourthly, the name ‘Olof Cel- sius’ can only be authentic if he and his wife actually owned their own separate skulls, since she was evidently the owner of the Lund skull. It appears that ‘J. Ahl- gren 1797’ is probably the only one name that is actually genuine. The obviously erroneous conclusions made by Sjöborg, and further elaborated by Liljewalch, is the only way to make sense of the inscriptions found on the Paris skull, if one presupposes that they are genuine that is, which has been the case until now. However, since the inscriptions found on the Paris skull clearly contradict the in-

43 Ahlström et al. 1983, 37–8. 44 According to the museum inventory of 1780.

111 The true skull of Descartes

Fig. 9.8. Anders Anton von Stiernman. Copper engraving by C. Bergqvist 1753.

112 The true skull of Descartes formation provided by almost every older historical source, the conclusion must be that they are false. The background story, the poem, and the names of Planström, Hägerflycht, Arckenholtz, can be traced back to the published works of Hof and Arckenholtz. The presence of the names ‘Anders Anton von Stiernman’ and ‘Olof Celsius’, who according to the inventory of 1780 are evidently connected to the Lund skull, may be explained by the fact that the invaluable library and historical collection of von Stiernman in Stockholm was quite famous (Fig. 9.8). When von Stiernman died in 1765, there was a general fear that his library and collection would be dispersed. To the relief of many, his daughter married Olof Celsius in 1766, who in turn donated most of the library to Uppsala University. In other words, it was widely known that Olof Celsius had inherited von Stiernman’s library, so the forger must have assumed that Descartes’s skull was inherited by Celsius as well. As to a date of the falsification, it most likely occurred after 1779, when Olof and Andreet- ta Celsius moved to Lund, but evidently prior to the death of Fischerström in 1796, who according to Sparrman had owned it before Ahlgren. According to our analysis of the oldest historical sources, as well as the two existing specimens, there is overwhelming evidence that the inscriptions found on the Paris skull are false. That leaves only one known possible specimen of Descartes’s skull: the Lund skull. It has an older provenance than the Paris skull, and the inscription found on its inside, ‘Cartesi – döskalla 1691. No 6.’, does not refer to any published name. This kind of simplicity is in its favour, since it would otherwise be an extremely elaborate forgery. As to the possible connection between the three historically known specimens and the Lund skull, Sjöborg and Bergqvist claimed that the handwriting on the note containing the Latin poem, which according to the inventory of 1780 accompanied the parietal bone, actually matched Arckenholtz’s handwriting.45 We have not been able to confirm this conclusion, but it is certainly a possibility. Regard- ing the inscription ‘No 37.’, found on the cup that most probably originally contained the parietal bone, it is a fair guess that this number refers to the inventory of the once famous collection of Anders Anton von Stiernman.

Anatomical examinations of the Paris and Lund skulls What can we learn from the anatomical investigations of the Descartes’s Paris and Lund skulls? In 1983, Ahlström et al. published an extensive article where they compared both crania. Most importantly for our case, they concluded that the findings

45 Sjöborg & Bergqvist 1808, 15–6; also according to the second accompanying note to the parietal bone (LUHM 508).

113 The true skull of Descartes reached by Carl M. Fürst in 1908 were incorrect. Fürst postulated that the open sutures found on the Lund scull were evidence that the skull belonged to a person younger than Descartes’s age at death. Ahlström et al., however, proved that this specific evidence is not suited for age determinations.46 Considerably older individuals with open sutures are known; for instance that of the philosopher Immanuel Kant, who died at the age of 79. Ahlström et al. conclude that the medical investigations could not identify which of the sculls could be that of Descartes, but they lean towards the Paris skull being the original, relying on the inscriptions on the skull and, quoting the nineteenth century ocular comparisons of the skull. Although other researchers, such as the astronomer Delambre, who strongly contested the idea that the Paris skull could belong to the famous philosopher, there were others like George Cuvier who were convinced that it was Descartes’s skull.47 However, both camps used the same ocular method and were examining the same skull. Only DNA-analyses could definitively solve the question of authenticity. If a DNA profile obtained from the Lund or the Paris skull was shown to be identical to a profile derived from the bodily remains buried in the Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the problem would be solved. Or would it? There remains a big problem here, which we noted in the introduction. The body exhumed by Lenoir in the early 1790s was without a doubt the wrong one!

Conclusion Based on a comparison between the historical source material as well as the inscriptions, it is evident that the Paris skull is a forgery. In the case of the Lund skull, regarded as a fake for more than 200 years, our conclusion is that it is most likely genuine. The historical source material, the date of the inscription on the skull, the colour of the bone, and the anatomical age determination all provide evidence af- firming its authenticity. DNA samples extracted from members of the Cartesian lineage could be the only way to solve the problem. There is reason to suggest that genetic analysis could gain insight into the deceased outer appearance, such as colour of eyes and hair. All these are factors that could help solve the mystery. Another possibility is to track down the finger bone from Descartes, which was given to the French ambassador Hugues de Terlon at the first exhumation at Sankta Klara cemetery in Stockholm in 1666.48 If found, this finger bone is the only piece from Descartes’s remains that surely belongs to him. Professor Torbjörn Ahlström at the

46 Fürst 1908, 874–5; Ahlström et al. 1983, 41–2. 47 Ahlström et al. 1983, 34. 48 Ahlström et al. 1983, 26.

114 The true skull of Descartes Department of Archaeology and Ancient History at Lund University is contacting his French colleagues in Paris regarding this question.49 Thus, part 1 of our investigation is finished. Now part 2 begins.

49 Not a relative of the previously mentioned Carl Gustaf Ahlström.

115 Fig. 10.1. Selected fossils from Kilian Stobæus’s collection, originally included in Museum Stobæa- num. Scale bars 10 mm. A. Brachiopod (Isocrania egnabergensis, referred to as ‘Nummulus minor rarissimus’ in Stobæus 1732), outer (left) and inner (right) view of the same specimen (a ventral valve), no. 344 in the catalogue of Lidbeck (1759, 233). B. Bryozoan, specimen no. 111 (Lidbeck 1759, 223). Bivalve shells and echinoderm spines also occur in the host rock. C. Rugose coral, in lateral (left) and dorsal view (right), specimen no. 182ε (Lidbeck 1759, 200). D. Crinoid stem pieces, from left to right specimens 300α, 296, 297, 303β and 299 (Lidbeck 1759, 321–3). E. Bivalve, specimen no. 699 (Lidbeck 1759, 258). F. Fern-like plant, specimen no. 50 (Lidbeck 1759, 338). G. Echinoids, all specimens catalogued as no. 514 (Lidbeck 1759, 310). All photos except A by Gunnar Menander.

116 10. Petrified organisms: the fossil collection of Kilian Stobæus

Anders Lindskog, Per Ahlberg & Mats E. Eriksson

Based on accounts and inventories of Kilian Stobæus’s collection, it is evident that Museum Stobæanum, founded in 1735, originally contained a vast number (many thousands) of geological specimens – that is, fossils, metals, minerals, rocks, sediments and soil samples.1 Unfortunately, many of the specimens in his collections have been misplaced or lost since the early nineteenth century, and only a fraction of them have been located. The old inventories, alongside information from the published literature, indicate that Stobæus’s collection included fossils of highly variable biological affinity and from widely different geographical localities and geological periods (Fig. 10.1). A brief description of Stobæus’s paleontological work was provided by Regnéll, who reproduced some original illustrations and discussed the affinities of concerned specimens.2 In this chapter, we focus on a selection of fossil specimens that undoubtedly belonged to the original collection of Stobæus. To these can be added a number of specimens that probably belonged to the collection, but which lack adequate documentation. Where possible, we provide brief accounts of Stobæus’s views and interpretations, as revealed by his publications and unpublished notes. This is accompanied by an assessment of the specimens through the lens of modern palaeonto- logical science. The provenience of individual specimens is generally difficult or impossible to determine, but we will attempt here to narrow down the geography and age as closely as possible.

1 Hadding 1942, 34; Naum et al. forthcoming. 2 Regnéll 1949, 28–31.

117 Petrified organisms An inventory compiled by Eric G. Lidbeck provides a wealth of invaluable information about Stobæus’s collections.3 However, this inventory was produced after Stobæus’s death and, therefore, some of the designations and descriptions therein are not necessarily in concert with the ideas of Stobæus himself, nor of his contemporaries.4 Nonetheless, for ease of reference, we utilize the data from Lidbeck. As an added benefit, this practice provides insight into the early history and progressive evolution of palaeontology as a scientific discipline. The fossil groups discussed below are listed in alphabetical order under their valid, modern-day scientific names.

Brachiopods Brachiopods are bottom-dwelling marine animals that are superficially similar to bivalved molluscs (e.g. clams, see below), although they are not closely related and even belong to different phyla.5 The brachiopod fossil record is very extensive and begins in the early part of the Cambrian Period (c. 541–485 million years ago, or Ma).6 In the distant past, brachiopods formed an abundant and diverse component of the invertebrate faunas, but nowadays only c. 350 species, allocated to some 120 genera, remain (compared to many thousands of extinct taxa). Only one very specific type of fossil brachiopod remains from the original collection of Stobæus today: so-called craniiformean specimens commonly referred to historically as ‘Nummuli Brattensburgenis’(or variations on the same theme).7 Stobæus’s craniiformean brachiopods are most likely from the Cretaceous (c. 100– 66 Ma) and possibly Paleogene (c. 66–23 Ma)8 of Scania, southernmost Sweden; for example, Stobæus documented specimens from Ignaberga and Ivö, in northeast Scania (Fig. 10.1A). In these areas, fossils can still be found in great abundance. Stobæus discussed these brachiopod fossils in the context of ‘Ostracites’, implying that he assigned them to molluscs, with which they were also lumped together in the inventory of Lidbeck. Lundgren subsequently showed that the specimens illustrated by Stobæus likely belong to two species, currently referred to as Crania craniolaris and Isocrania egnabergensis.9

3 Lidbeck 1759. 4 e.g. Håkansson 2019. 5 e.g. Clarkson 1998; Harper et al. 2017. 6 Gradstein et al. 2012, 437–88; Ushatinskaya 2008. 7 Stobæus 1732; Nilsson 1826; Emig 2009. 8 Gradstein et al. 2012, 793–853, 855–921. 9 Lundgren 1885, 25–7, 30; Emig 2009.

118 Petrified organisms Bryozoans (moss animals)

Bryozoans are colonial aquatic organisms that secrete a skeletal framework generally composed of calcium carbonate. Their geological record extends at least back to the Ordovician Period (c. 485–444 Ma)10, but putative specimens have been reported also from the preceding Cambrian Period.11 In the inventory of Lidbeck, bryozoans are lumped together with corals under the terms Madrepora and Millepora (referring to the porous or pitted appearance of the fossils). These groups are categorized under the name Petrificata Helmintholithus Lithophyta. Only three bryozoan specimens remain in the collection today, one of which is illustrated herein (Fig. 10.1B). Two of the specimens are probably from the Creta- ceous of southern Sweden, or possibly from Denmark, whereas one might derive from other regions of Europe. Bryozoans also occur on the surfaces of other fossils in the collection, such as oysters, as they were acting as encrusting epibionts that used other hard shells as their dwelling substrate.

Cnidarians (corals) Whereas modern coral types (scleractinians) appeared some 240 million years ago, during the middle Triassic Period12, the earliest corals date back to the Cambrian.13 Close relatives likely originated already in the Neoproterozoic Eon (c. 850–541 Ma).14 Ancient (Palaeozoic) corals consisted mainly of two types: the colonial tabulates and the mainly solitary rugosans, both of which were important reef builders during this time interval. The preserved collection of Stobæus contains several coral specimens (one example is shown in Fig. 10.1C). The provenience of most of the corals can be determined with relative certainty as being the island of Gotland, or possibly south-central Scania, which also provides a Silurian age (c. 430–420 Ma).15 For example, Stobæus illustrated a putative coral ‘Madreporam fossilem’ from Bjärsjölagård (‘Bieroeds Ladugârd’), Scania that today appears to be lost.16 Some specimens are likely from the Cretaceous or Paleogene periods and have probably been collected in Denmark

10 Gradstein et al. 2012, 489–523. 11 Landing et al. 2015; Hageman & Ernst 2019. 12 Gradstein et al. 2012, 681–730. 13 Stanley 2003. 14 Gradstein et al. 2012, 299–392. 15 Eriksson & Calner 2005; Gradstein et al. 2012, 525–58. 16 Stobæus 1741b, tab. XVII; see also Jeppsson & Laufeld 1986, 4–11.

119 Petrified organisms and/or southwestern Scania.17 Stobæus referred to many coral specimens as ‘Astroi- tes’. Based on his descriptions and discussions, it is evident that he identified many specimens correctly as corals.18

Crinoids (echinoderms; sea lilies) Crinoids are superficially plant-like, mainly stationary animals belonging to the wholly marine phylum Echinodermata. They are common in the geological record, and their remains can occur in such abundance that they become rock forming. The earliest unequivocal crinoids appeared in the early Ordovician.19 Just like other echinoderms, crinoids tend to disarticulate rapidly after death, and the bits and pieces, particularly of their stems, form characteristic components of many limestones (Fig. 10.1D). These ring-shaped columnar plates or stony ‘rolls of coins’ have been considered fascinating artefacts of nature and the subject of folklore in many different countries.20 The remains of Stobæus’s collection contain a large number of crinoid stem pieces, including basal branched parts (root-like structures that attached to the sea floor). In the inventory of Lidbeck, crinoids are listed under the name ’Entrochus’ (ring- like) and categorised as ’Helmintholithus reptilis’, possibly alluding to their snake- like stems and arms.21 Most of Stobæus’s crinoids are likely of Silurian age, and stemming from Gotland, Sweden. For example, Stobæus referred to crinoids and their columnals as ‘Asteriae columnares’ and ‘Encrini seu Lilia Lapideae’ (stone lilies), and he was clearly aware of their true biological affinity.22

Echinoids (echinoderms; sea urchins) Echinoids are ubiquitous in modern marine environments, and their fossil record dates back to the Ordovician.23 As opposed to their typical crinoid relatives, echinoids move across or within the seafloor sediments. Echinoids have left a rich fossil record and are among the most common fossils remaining in Stobæus’s collection (Fig. 10.1G). All of these represent articulated specimens (or more precisely the test, or an internal mould of it, sans spines) and

17 see Stobæus 1738; Sivhed et al. 1999. 18 Stobæus 1738. 19 e.g. Guensberg et al. 2010. 20 Eriksson 2019. 21 Lidbeck 1759. 22 Stobæus 1741b. 23 Smith & Savill 2001.

120 Petrified organisms most belong to the group of so-called irregular echinoids, which are characterised by an infaunal life mode (that is, burrowing within the seafloor), as opposed to the regular forms, which move around on the seafloor surface. Among the distinguishing features differentiating these two groups, the most obvious one seen in fossilized specimens is a bilateral symmetry that superimposes the typical five-fold echinoderm symmetry in irregular echinoids.24 This is well expressed on the sub-flattened ventral (oral) surface of the test, which shows two depressions that represent the anus and mouth openings, respectively (the mouth of regular echinoids is placed centrally under the test, and the anus is situated straight above that, on the topmost part of the test). In Lidbeck, the echinoids are assembled under the term ‘Echinites’ (petrified sea urchin) and grouped under ‘Helmintholithus zoophÿti’ (plant-like animal). The origin and age of the echinoids in Stobæus’s collection are variable, but at least some of them likely are from the Jurassic (c. 201–145 Ma)25, Cretaceous or Paleogene of southern Sweden, Denmark and/or Germany. Stobæus illustrated and described a fossil echinoid (‘Echinites’) and provided evidence for its biological affinity.26 It is uncertain if this particular specimen is among those still present in the collections today. In that same paper, Stobæus discussed various mythological and/or traditional names and views referring to this and other fossils.

Molluscs (bivalves, cephalopods and snails) Molluscs represent the second most diverse group of invertebrate animals today, surpassed only by the arthropods. They inhabit aquatic (marine, brackish and fresh- water) environments as well as terrestrial habitats.27 As most molluscs secrete one or two carbonate shells, they generally have good fossilisation potential, which also accounts for their abundance and diversity in the Phanerozoic rock record. The oldest unambiguous mollusc fossils are Cambrian in age.28 Although it is evident from the inventory of Lidbeck that molluscs formed quite a substantial portion of Stobæus’s collection, those remaining today are easy to count. Perhaps the most famous specimen is a fragment of an ammonite (an extinct cephalopod) from the late Cretaceous of Ignaberga, which belonged to a species that received a scientific name honouring Stobæus himself;Ammonites stobaei (now Pa- tagiosites stobaei).29 This specimen was illustrated together with other mollusc spec-

24 Clarkson 1998, 266–7. 25 Gradstein et al. 2012, 731–91. 26 Stobæus 1738. 27 Clarkson 1998, 197–261. 28 Wanninger & Wollesen 2019. 29 see Nilsson 1827; Kennedy & Christensen 1997, 95; Naum et al. forthcoming.

121 Petrified organisms imens (‘Ostracites’) by Stobæus.30 Other cephalopod fossils, such as the extinct belemnites and orthoceratites, are mentioned by Lidbeck but are not present in the collection at hand. Stobæus31 illustrated a belemnite under the name ‘Belemnites’, now known to represent the species Belemnellocamax mammillatus.32 The remaining mollusc collection also contains gastropods (snails) and bivalves, such as oysters and other clams, including one conspicuously curved specimen that is shown in figure 10.1E. In the inventory of Lidbeck, molluscs are categorised under a number of different names, all grouped under the heading ‘Helmintholithus Tes- tacei Turbinites’, likely referring to the commonly coiled shells of these animals (typical for both the gastropods and cephalopods). Most of the (few) recovered fossil mollusc specimens from Stobæus’s collection likely derive from the Creta- ceous–Paleogene strata of Scania and/or Denmark.33 In addition to the fossil specimens discussed herein, the collection includes subfossil specimens (that is, although commonly quite old, not fossils sensu stricto).34

Plants Although plants form one of the most conspicuous organisms in most regions of the world today, they did not appear in the terrestrial realm until the middle Ordo- vician, as based on microscopic spores.35 The first macroscopic fossil evidence of vascular land plants is even younger than that, with remains having been found in rocks of Silurian age. Out of all the plant fossils originally belonging to Stobæus’s collection, we were able to confidently locate and identify only a single specimen (Fig. 10.1F). The provenience of this specimen is uncertain – it may be derived from the Triassic (c. 252–201 Ma)36 or Jurassic of northwestern Scania, Sweden, but it may also be from older strata in continental Europe. In the inventory of Lidbeck, this and similar specimens was referred to as ‘Phytolithus’ (petrified plant). Stobæus also described and illustrated a piece of fossil wood (referred to as ‘Lithoxilon seu Lignum petre- factum’) from Vallkärra (‘Walkierra’) in west-central Scania.37 Based on the descriptive name, Stobæus was clearly aware that it was wood in fossilized form.

30 Stobæaus 1732. 31 Stobæus 1738. 32 see Christensen 1975, 3. 33 e.g. Stobæus 1732. 34 see Stobæus 1741b. 35 Wellman 2010; Morris et al. 2018. 36 Gradstein et al. 2012, 681–730. 37 Stobæus 1741b, tab. XVI.

122 Petrified organisms Presumed missing

It is both noteworthy and unfortunate that so many of the fossils in Stobæus’s collection have been impossible to track down (thus far). Entire categories or groups of fossils are missing altogether, despite the fact that they obviously formed a significant part of the original collection. These include, for example, various types of cephalopods (cf. above), graptolites (colonial and superficially plant-like marine animals)38, vertebrates (notably fish, and various teeth and bones), and trilobites (extinct arthropods)39, many of which constitute common fossils in the rock record. Already in 1734, Stobæus noted the presence of graptolites, described as ‘acuum marinarum minimarum’ (small marine needles), in black shales from the nature preserve Fågelsång (‘Fuglesâng’), east of Lund in west-central Scania.40 Stobæus also discussed, illustrated and correctly identified a fossil shark tooth (referred to as ‘Glossopetra’, a very common folkloric name for these fossils).41 Other groups depicted by Stobæus include the sessile arthropodan barnacles (likely in subfossil state of preservation).42 Among the missing fossils are also some curiously named specimens (that is, we are unable to assess their biological affinity based on the name, description and/or illustration), and all but very few (out of thousands) of the other geological specimens have been lost. This unfortunate situation highlights that systematic, careful and dedicated curation of historical museum collections is of great importance, as such missing specimens cannot ever be replaced. Moreover, this makes the remaining collections of Stobæus and his peers all the more important, as these allow for continued appreciation of their intrinsic cultural, historical, soci- etal and scientific values.

38 Maletz 2017. 39 Whittington 1992. 40 Stobæus 1734; see Regnéll 1949, 30–1; Regnéll 1991, 28. 41 Stobæus 1738; cf. Eriksson 2019. 42 Stobæus 1741b; see Regnéll 1949, 31.

123 Fig. 11.1. A: Cypraea annulus, B: Cypraea Isabella, and C: Monetaria caputeserpentis are all a part of the Cypraeidae family and were commonly used as decoration on pieces of clothing, jewellery and currency in part of Africa and Asia until the end of eighteenth century. From the collections of Bio- logical Museum in Lund. Photo: Ulf Arup.

124 11. Kilian Stobæus’s natural history collection: objects from high in the sky to deep in the sea

Maria Mostadius

Vespertilio leporinus, Mustela putorius, Phoca rosinari, the Latin names follow con- tinually after each other in the old inventory from 1759. The long lists contain what was once the Museum Stobæanum’s collection of natural history objects. To a zoologist, they sound familiar but at the same time, they are also something new. Even today, Latin is used in natural history collections and in research, so that we can be sure that we are all referring to the same species. This unique language, with its names and descriptions, becomes a link between Kilian Stobæus and those of us who manage what remains of the collection today. Many of the names and the way of dividing the animals into groups have changed over time. Tracing Stobæus’s objects became a process that resembles an archaeological excavation in the museum storage. In the archives and among the unidentified objects and unexplored boxes, we have slowly tried to find the animals listed in the 1759 inventory of the museum and to follow clues about their origin. Slowly stumbling through descriptions in Latin, we soon discovered that the collection was a mixture of local objects and those who have travelled great distances to end up in the western corner room in the King’s House in Lundagård, where Museum Stobæanum was located. The fact that many of the exotic objects have managed to survive into the twenty first century is in many cases pure luck. Objects collected on the other side of the world had to undergo long journeys on ships, which sailed for several months to reach their final destination. During the voyage, the objects were probably exposed to moisture, salt water, pests, and curious ship cats, not to mention complete and utter neglect of those responsible for the cargo load. The animal specimens, transported in spirits, wine or rum (often referred to as ‘spiritu vini’ in older catalogues), were often stored in glass vessels that could easily shatter during sea storms.

125 Kilian Stobæus’s natural history collection There are very few eighteenth century descriptions of the Museum Stobæanum. A diary note from a visitor to the natural chamber of 1741, shares important details of how the collection was organized and displayed. Many of the animals were arranged and hung from the ceiling, while smaller items such as insects, teeth and shells were stored in cabinets with drawers.1 The fact that several objects were to some extent unprotected and were openly displayed in the room is probably the reason why we today lack animals with furs and feathers among the items that still exist. On the other hand, an animal or a bird was sometimes represented solely by its tooth, horn, foot or beak. Thus, only a part of the collection consisted of stuffed animals, a method of display and preservation that evolved during Stobæus’s lifetime. In 1748, the French entomologist René Antoine Ferchault de Réaumur described four different methods of preserving an animal. One could: 1) remove the skin, fill it and dry it (without any chemicals); 2) soak the entire remains in alcohol; 3) remove all organs from the body and balm the animal with herbs and spices, or 4) remove all organ and dry the animal in the oven (suitable after finished bread baking, due to a favourable temperature).2 It was not until about a hundred years after Stobæus’s donation that arsenic began to be used as a preservative for animals and bird skins. Arsenic was introduced as a preservation method in zoological collections in Lund in the 1820s, when the zoologist Sven Nilsson brought the method to Sweden, resulting in many collections being spared insect damage.3 The conditions at Museum Stobæanum were far from ideal. On April 10 1782, the curator, Eric G. Lidbeck, argued before the university consistory that the natural collection had to be moved. The reason was that the room was much too hot, which attracted the clothing moths to the assembled animals, and caused the liquid collection to dry out.4 A few years later, another curator, Anders J. Retzius, pointed out to the university chancellor that the room was highly unsuitable for the natural history objects because of moths and wet specimens that needed to be constantly topped up.5 Yet another proposal for a move was rejected, and it would take until 1802 before the collections were moved to a more suitable building.6 Back to the inventory, because this is where we get a picture of what we would have seen if the museum had remained today, we will now examine some of the objects that are preserved and the stories surrounding them. Of the once 1466 zoological objects in Museum Stobæanum, only about 270 still survive.

1 Löwegren 1952, 83. 2 Simmons & Snider 2013, 132. 3 Naturhistoriska riksmuseets historia 1916, 36. 4 Löwegren 1952, 110. 5 Löwegren 1952, 111. 6 See also Karsten, chapter 17 this volume.

126 Kilian Stobæus’s natural history collection

Fig. 11.2. Sympetrum flaveolum (Gulfläckig äng- Fig. 11.3. Meloe veriegatus (Brokig majbagge, strollslända, Yellow-winged darter) is still a common Varigated oil beetle). Unfortunately, the col- dragonfly in Sweden and can be seen close to lakes ours of this beautiful beetle did not stand the surrounded by forest. This dragonfly is one of the test of time, but with its shades in purple and eighteen specimens of dragonflies and damselflies green it must have looked stunning when it listed in the inventory from 1753. was presented to Stobaeus by Leche in 1733. Photo: Gunnar Menander. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

The insects of Leche

Johan Leche (1704–64) was born into a family of clergymen in 1704 in Backåkra in Scania.7 It was thought that he, like his father, would become a priest. However, after he obtained an internship with the botanically interested assessor Nils Langelius Bildensköld (1683–1740) in Simontorp, he began to take an interest in natural science. During his time at Simontorp, Leche drew hundreds of plants that later became Florula Simontorpiana. He also illustrated a herbarium vivum in quar- to, with about 500 plants, which he later donated to his teacher and mentor, Kilian Stobæus. It was not only plants that Leche came to collect, but also insects and

7 See also Naum, chapter 2, Östlund, chapter 6, and Arup & Mostadius, chapter 12 this volume for further references to Leche.

127 Kilian Stobæus’s natural history collection birds that were later donated to the university. The list drawn up shortly after Sto- bæus’s donation shows that there were 294 insects mounted between two pieces of glass (Fig. 11.2 and 11.3). The glass has a greenish colour, and between the two pieces, lie one or more insects of a collected species. The glass is held together by brocade paper in green or orange.8 It is unclear whether the latter colour is the original, or if it has changed over time. Most of the insects were collected in the vicinity of Simontorp and were probably stored in ‘spiritu vini’ from the beginning, before they were dried and mounted. Of the 294 donated insect specimens, there are today about 80 insects left in their original condition. The insects were collected mainly in Scania and can give us an insight into what species inhabited the eighteenth century landscape. Among the insects that are available in the collection was one of the species that had disappeared from Scania as early as the end of the nineteenth century. Meloe variegatus (brokig majbagge; variegated oil beetle) is a medium-sized beetle with a dark bronze-green metallic glossy body, with purple and copper-coloured side edges on the head and neck (Fig. 11.3). The trunk’s plates are variegated and vary in colour from copper, gold to green and are quite coarse in structure. The beetle larval development takes place in the solitary bees’ nests in dry, open grasslands with elements of sandy soil. Today, it can be found on sandy soils in Denmark, but in Sweden it is considered an extinct species.9

Shells as collectors’ items and as object of art Of all the objects that were in the Museum Stobænum, the shells and mussels are the items that have best been able to withstand time. Shells from the vast seas have fascinated people for centuries, as decorative objects, souvenirs and as scientific specimens. Those stored in cabinets and drawers in the curiosity room had ornamental and scientific functions. When the nobleman Magnus von Celse visited the museum together with Carl Linnæus’s friend, Doctor Abraham Bäck, they nevertheless seemed to be unimpressed by the seashell collection. In a journal entry from the visit, one can read: ‘A beautiful and substantial shell collection, though not as complete as the one of Ziervogel in Stockholm’. Comparing the collection in Lund with that of the Ziervogel family was rather unfair. This apothecary family had been prominent collectors since the second half of the seventeenth century. They had close contacts with the Swedish court and good opportunities to come across both precious and scientifically important objects through their networks.

8 Löwegren 1952, 89. 9 Artdatabanken: https://artfakta.se/artbestamning/taxon/meloe-variegatus-101304.

128 Kilian Stobæus’s natural history collection From the first inventory, it can be seen that the collection of seashells was arranged in 17 boxes according to the families. However, the determination of the species to which the shells belonged did not always prove to be correct. In the eighteenth century, the taxonomy of the shells had just started to develop, and the species and families to which the shells were thought to belong changed considerably over the years. Consequently, the classification in the inventory does not always fit currently used taxonomy. In many cases the Latin descriptions in the inventory became the only way to identify the preserved shells. Nevertheless, it has not always been possible to match the existing examples with those described in the inventory. The origin of the shells appears to be quite concentrated to certain parts of the world. Many of the species, such as whelks, were local and common in the Kattegat Sea. The more exotic shells originated in the waters of Central and South America, as well as around the African coast and from the waters north of Australia and the Indian Ocean. The latter ones were most likely brought to the Netherlands through trading with countries of interest by the employees of the Dutch trading companies (VOC and VIC), with whom Stobæus and other collectors who donated material to the museum had contacts. The Dutch trading companies had long held a mo- nopoly on trade with the countries around the Indian Ocean and with the colonies and trading stations in both Asia and Central and South America.10 The Dutch trading companies may also be the original source of the rather large number of shells from the Cypraeidae family, porcelain shells (Fig. 11.1a–c).11 Several species in this family were used as decoration on clothing, as jewellery and as a means of payment in several African and Asian tribes for a long time in the form of cowrie shells.12 The trading companies used these shells as packing material to trans- port precious porcelain from Asia, and this is how they came to Europe in large quantities. As the economic value of the shells was well known to those who owned the companies, the shells were used as currency when buying slaves in Africa.13 Es- pecially the seashell Monetaria moneta (Fig. 11.4), which goes by the name Cypraea monetaria in the 1759 inventory, seems to have been of particularly high value. The cowrie shell also had a high symbolic value in Africa, representing prosperity, fem-

10 Hogendorn & Johnson 1986, 49–54. 11 Hogendorn & Johnson 1986, 15. 12 Hogendorn & Johnson 1986, 5. 13 Yang 2011, 2.

129 Kilian Stobæus’s natural history collection

Fig. 11.4. Monetaria moneta is the most well-known porcelain shells used as trading currency and became a part of the well-developed slave trade between Africa and the colonies in North America. From the collections of Biological Museum in Lund. Photo: Ulf Arup.

ininity, fertility and good health.14 We do not know exactly how those cowrie shells became part of the museum’s collection, but they could have been purchased, exchanged for other objects or donated to the collection via a third party. We know through remaining letters that Stobæus had contacts, mainly in Amsterdam, with pharmacists such as Albertus Seba, but also with the pharmacist Johann H. Linck in Leipzig and the pharmacist Johan E. Ferber in Karlskrona.15 The documents mentioning donations to the museum during the eighteenth century rarely specify the species that were donated, only the number of a group of specimens, but there are exceptions. In a letter from Carl C. Treutiger, Stobæus’s cousin, there is mentioned a shell from an oyster or a shell of mother of pearl and a couple of shells with pointy protrusions, probably from the family of Muricidae, a group of shells that can be found in the inventory from 1759.16

14 Yang 2011, 4. 15 Löwegren 1952, 87; see also Naum, chapter 2 this volume. 16 Lidbeck 1759, 96–104; Fürst 1907, 135; see also Naum, chapter 2. 130 Kilian Stobæus’s natural history collection Furia infernalis – the insect from ‘hell’

The collection’s most odd and strange accession must nevertheless be an insect that Linnæus named ‘Furia infernalis’. Linnæus had been attacked by this little animal or insect during an excursion in the area of Fågelssångsdalen, outside Lund, in the spring of 1728. He was stung in his right arm, which later became swollen and pain- ful. At the time, Stobæus, who was hosting and mentoring Linnæus, was at Ramlö- sa Brunn and could not be of any assistance himself. To Linnæus’s rescue instead came the Academy field surgeon Dr. Schnell, who made a cut in Linnæus’s arm from the armpit to the elbow to mitigate the pain.17 Later, Linnæus described the torment- ing creature as follows: ‘Corpus filiforme, continuum, aequale, utrinque ciliatum: aculeis reflexis corpori ap- pressis’ (‘body thread-like, continuous, uniform, ciliated on both sides with reflexed spinules appressed to the body’) F. infernalis was, ‘Pessima omnium, ex aethere decidua in corpora animalium, ea mo- mento citius penetrat, intra horae quadrantem dolore atrocissimo occidit’: (‘worst of all, falling from the sky onto the bodies of animals, into which it rapidly penetrates within a moment, striking down with the most atrocious pain within a quarter of an hour’).18 What makes this animal strange, however, is not its aggressive approach, but that it does not seem to exist at all. At least not as Linnæus described it. What makes it even odder is the fact that in the 1759 inventory, there is actually a Furia infernalis listed as part of the collection. As number 2 of the group ‘Intestina’, there is obviously a specimen of this mysterious creature.19 The insect is not included in the museum inventory from 1780, however. The reason is unclear, but may have to do with the many years of discussions about whether or not this animal actually existed. But what was it that was previously recorded in the collection under this name? Nobody knows, but it is tempting to imagine that it was the specimen that attacked Linnæus that day in 1728. For the next hundred years, this ‘Furia’ came to be accused of being the cause of many incidents, from having killed about 30 reindeer to various other ailments in both humans and animals. The concept of ‘being struck by a Furia’ was born. We can conclude that Museum Stobænum had a ‘fictitious’ (although it was very real for Linnæus at the time), albeit mysterious animal in its collections, something which can ignite most people’s imagination and speculative theories. Today, however, it has been concluded that Linnæus had most likely been bitten by a common horsefly and had had an allergic reaction.20

17 Wright 2015, 28–30. 18 Linnæus 1735 1:a, 647. 19 Lidbeck 1759, 85. 20 Wright 2015, 30. 131 Kilian Stobæus’s natural history collection

Fig. 11.5. A pair of antlers of red deer Cervus elaphus was the Museum Stobæaum’s second object of sub-fossils donated to the museum by the farmer Sven Svensson from Rydsgård in 1755 (Biological Museum, Lund, L755/3001). The first sub-fossil was a tooth from a horse. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

Fig. 11.6. An armour shell from an armadillo was one of the most exotic pieces a collector could own during the Baroque era (Biological Museum, Lund, L735/3006). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

132 Kilian Stobæus’s natural history collection A museum collection is a place full of unique stories. What has just been described above is purely a selection from a collection of specimens assembled from all corners of the world. There are many other distinctive objects with intriguing histories. For example, the right shoulder blade of the Greenland whale, which may have been used during a lecture on the three kingdoms of biology held in Lund Cathedral in 1722; the subfossil of deer antlers (Fig. 11.5) that happened to be accessioned as an antler from a reindeer in the 1759 inventory; and the armadillo (Fig. 11.6), which was considered to be one of the most exotic animals that someone could have in their collections. After month of research, we feel that we have not reach the end of our search. We are still at the beginning and we have a slight suspicion that there are more object hiding in the collection, just waiting to be rediscovered.

133 Fig. 12.1. Consolida regalis is just one example of the preserved plants in Herbarium Vivum (no 102). The book with dried and pressed plants was compiled around the turn of the sixteenth century and was available to Stobæus during his time at Lund University. Collections of Biological Museum in Lund. Photo: Håkan Håkansson.

134 12. Herbarium Vivum – a necessity in every gentleman’s collection

Ulf Arup & Maria Mostadius

Gardens, one might say, are nature put into the right place.

– Andrew Cunningham, The Culture of Gardens, 1996

Kilian Stobæus’s collection dates back to the exciting period when the ‘chaos’ of the Baroque met the ‘order and readiness’ of the era of Enlightenment. This period is characterized by the complex ways of engaging with collected objects, the development of natural history and generation of new knowledge of the world of plants. Museum Stobæanum was in its own way a balancing act between the Baroque’s quest to fascinate its visitors by displaying the curious and sensational and the En- lightenment’s quest to systematize and search for new knowledge. Kilian Stobæus’s donation of his collection introduced the ‘amateur’ collection into the university’s educational sphere, in the same way that in Paris, the teaching of botany moved from the amateurs to the scholars at Jardin du Roi.1

Herbarium Vivum Stobæus’s relation and knowledge about plants and herbs fits very well into the amateur-professional relationship. As a teacher of medicine, Stobæus would have known the medicinal plants very well. At the same time, he seems to have collected non-medicinal plants and arranged them according to the latest ideas within taxonomy. Mounting plants into books, often referred to as herbal books, or herbaria, became popular in the beginning of the sixteenth century. They became reference

1 Dietz & Nutz 2005, 47.

135 Herbarium Vivum books for medicinal plants in an illustrated format and turned to those who practiced the medical profession. However, herbal medicine as a healing art has a much older history. Both knowledge about the use of herbs and herbal books underwent major changes over time. The at times somewhat imaginative illustrations of plants were gradually replaced by dried plants that we today think of as herbarium sheets. In the late Middle Ages, the concept of ‘Herbarium Vivum’ develops and begins to appear as a title on the cover of books. The name suggests that the plants would be alive, but actually refers to the plants being illustrated in colour.2 As the first botanical gardens are designed and laid out in the sixteenth century, the coloured illustrations are increasingly replaced by real plants that have been pressed and dried between better quality white paper.3 The method of pressing plants is thus older than one might think and was initially used in parallel with the plant prints, called ‘oak types’. The latter technique involves coating the plant with dye and then pressing it against paper to preserve the plant’s structures for later studies.4 A Herbarium Vivum was donated to Lund University’s first library in the seventeenth century. Today, it is the oldest bound volume of plant material in the botanical collections in Scandinavia (Fig. 12.1).5 It is a thick and somewhat worn book, with 392 pressed plants, largely consisting of plants for medical or ornamental purposes. They are believed to have an origin from a garden in Leiden, Holland. The book once belonged to one of the university’s first professors of medicine, Christo- pher Rostius (1620–87), but the first known owner was Hans van der Wische who probably purchased it on 2 October 16186 and later sold or gave it to Rostius. How- ever, the book is probably much older, since the year 1610 appears on its cover, suggesting that van der Wische must have purchased it. Today, the text on the cover has faded to such a degree that it is hard to read more than parts of it, even under UV light that sometimes can be used to make old ink texts more visible. For a long time, probably for centuries, botany was an integral part of the medical profession and not a separate discipline as it is today. The first herbarium of individual plants not bound as a book was donated to the university in the early nineteenth century by Anders Jahan Retzius (1742–1821). However, botany and plant collecting had been continuously carried out for reasons other than pure systematisation of nature that was wildly practised and discussed from the mid-eighteenth century and onwards.

2 Gertz 1939, 214. 3 Gertz 1939, 215. 4 Gertz 1928a, 230. 5 Gertz 1918, 566. 6 Gertz 1918, 567–8.

136 Herbarium Vivum It has long been known that Stobæus’s herbarium was never donated to the university, but was sold at auction in 1742, soon after his death. As item number 30 in the auction catalogue, one may find a Herbarium Vivum in folio.7 Afterwards, the herbarium disappeared without a trace, despite numerous attempts to find it throughout the years. Its content remains unknown, but since Stobæus was a physician, it is likely that he would have accumulated a reference herbarium linked to the medicinal plants he used in his practice, but also plants for teaching. Stobæus’s Herbarium Vivum was auctioned off together with Johan Leche’s Florula Simontor- piana (as lot number 25). The latter was donated to Stobæus by Leche when Leche began his studies in Lund.8 Even though the herbarium was not moved to the museum, the memorial canvas set up at Stobæus’s donation mentions that he donated ‘seed, roots and fruits in abundance’ from his collection. In fact, the only indication of plants are the six pieces of ‘Varia vegetabilia’, i.e. various plants and some painted palm leaves, which are mentioned in a description of the museum in 1743. From the description, we know that on the walls of the museum there were several vegetables, especially specimens that originated from faraway places. Instead of curtains, the windows were decorated with wax fruits and adorned with other embellishments.9 One of those plants might have been a calabash donated by Samuel Hesselius in 173610 and listed in the donation document as No. 17:

A plant called calabash by the Indians grows in bines like hop and the fruit is like our pumpkin, has a hard and solid skin and can be made into a drinking cup, En- glishmen agree that this kind of plant was Jonah’s gourd. Inedible.11

The oldest complete inventory of Museum Stobæanum made a few years later lists five additional gourds, but these are originally from the Botanical Garden in Uppsa- la. Uppsala’s first botanical garden was severely damaged in a fire in 1702, but it was taken over and restored by Carl Linnæus in 1741. Given the poor preservation cli- mate in the Museum Stobæanum, it is likely that the original decorations mentioned

7 Catalogus bibliothecæ 1742, 94 8 See also Naum, chapter 2, Östlund, chapter 6 and Mostadius, chapter 11 this volume for further references to Leche. 9 Löwegren 1952, 108; see also Manhag, chapter 4 this volume. 10 On Hesselius’s donation see Manhag, chapter 4 and 5 this volume. 11 ’No. 17. Ett st. wäxt kallad af Indianerne Callibas wäxer i refwor el: ranckor såsom humle och är fruckter som pumpor hos oss, detta är allenast ett Skal hårdt och fast, så at man theraf kan giöra dryckes kärill, Engelsmen håller före at denna slags wäxt warit Jonae kurbitz. Duger intet äta’ (see Löwegren 1952, 137). For plants that were part of the museum collections in the eighteenth century, see Lidbeck 1759, 167–70.

137 Herbarium Vivum in 1743 were not the same as those listed in the inventory of 1759 and are therefore not included in the list of the plants belonging to the museum. If we stop here for a moment to look at the ‘Vegetabilia’ in the 1759 inventory, the botanical collection of this time consisted mainly of pieces of wood from different trees as well as cones, and not flowers, as one might expect. The collection ranged from cedar from America to the more native spruce cone; wood of walnut and lilac from France, European spindle from Stockholm and beech from Denmark. It also contained a piece of horse chestnut listed as coming from Egypt12, which is odd, since the species did not grow there and could therefore be a misidentification. Thirty of these different pieces of wood later reappear in a list compiled by Carl J. Sundevall in 1839 containing a list of various non-zoological objects in the care of the Zoological Museum.13 The same applies to three of the four coconuts that were also listed in 1759 and the framed specimen of algae, which Daniel F. Kehler noted in 1743 as ‘Plantae submarinae’.14 The material was later transferred to the Botanical Museum in Lund’s Botanical Garden. Only two flowering plants are included in the 1759 inventory: that of cardamom and the seed capsule from a jimsonweed.15

Linnæus’s time at Stobæus During the years 1727–28, Linnæus resided in the home of Stobæus. What the young Linnæus from Stenbrohult encounters when he arrives at Stobæus’s house is a collection of natural history objects, shells, stones and birds as well as a herbarium with plant species he has never seen before, glued to sheets of paper.16 Linnæus’s main task will be to dry and mount new plants, which, according to himself, led to a motivation to collect all types of different herbs that he could find around Lund.17 This seems to be the prelude to Linnæus starting his own Herbarium Vivum. In part of what is today the Cathedral School on Södergatan 22 in Lund, lived the first professor of theology and Lund University dean Martin Hegardt (1685– 1732). Linnæus’s collected plants in Hegardt’s garden planted ten years earlier by the Swedish King Charles XII, when for a couple of years he ruled the kingdom from Lund. In November 1727, Linnæus is said to have collected there, among other things, a flower of Helianthus tuberosus, earthy jelly. Linnæus not only made collec-

12 Lidbeck 1759, 167. 13 Sundevall 1839. 14 Löwegren 1952, 92. 15 Lidbeck 1759, 168. 16 Löwegren 1952, 84. 17 Fürst 1907, 19.

138 Herbarium Vivum tions in Lund. He also collected plants and took notes elsewhere, in Malmö, Hels- ingborg, Fågelsångsdalen, and in the tracts between Lund and Kristianstad.18

Leche, Stobæus and Linnæus Johan Leche’s (1704–64) scientific career started at Simontorp where as a teacher he developed a strong interest in natural history and also compiled his Flora Simontor- piana that includes more than 500 illustrated plants from the area.19 He later donated it to Stobæus, with whom he came to study medicine in 1733. His personal relationship with Stobæus grew stronger during the seven years he stayed in his household and became indispensable to the ill and limp professor. Leche not only arranged Stobæus’s plants, but also wrote his letters and visited his patients. At the same time, Leche continued to work with the Scanian flora and gathered both plants and information about its occurrences, just as Linnæus did a few years earlier when he lived as a student in Stobæus’s household. In 1740, Leche was promoted to medicinae doctor and moved to Skaraborg county, where he became a provincial physician. Five years later, he became a physician at the East India Company in Gothenburg, and the same year he was elected a member of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences. Even after leaving Lund, Leche continued to work with Scanian plants and, in 1744, he published the first flora of the region, Primitiae Florae Scanicae. Leche’s knowledge of plants and birds was extensive, and until his death, he sent long plant lists to Linnæus and provided him with information on birds and insects. It is therefore not surprising that Linnæus often refers to Leche, including his work at Simontorp. Leche was appointed professor of medicine in Turku in 1748, where he was active until his death in 1764. His herbarium then included 2000 plants. Unfortunately, it did not end up in Sweden but was purchased by the well-known botanist Sir Joseph Banks in London. Eventually, it was donated to the Natural History Museum in London, where it is still kept, though not as a cohesive collection but incorporated in the general collection that is organized according to systematic position.20 Not all the plants Leche collected are located in London. Some are stored in Sweden, more specifically at the Biological Museum in Lund. They did not come straight from Leche, but instead took a remarkable detour via Carl A. Agardh and the city of Karlstad. Agardh was a professor in Lund from 1812 to 1835, when he became bishop of Karlstad. Agardh was renowned for his great efforts in the field of algology, but he also suggested a new system for dividing all plants. He had his own

18 Gertz 1926, 116. 19 Gertz 1926, 124. 20 Gertz 1928b, 351.

139 Herbarium Vivum

Fig. 12.2. Asperula tinctoria is a native plant to Sweden used for dyeing yarn. The specimen once belonged to Johan Leche. From the collections of Biological Museum in Lund Photo: Patrik Frödén.

140 Herbarium Vivum

Fig. 12.3. Fritillaria pyrenaica is native to the Pyrenees and the sheet shows the beautiful handwriting of Johan Leche. From the collections of Biological Museum in Lund. Photo Patrik Frödén.

141 Herbarium Vivum herbarium of plants, which he donated in 1855, a few years before his death, to the collections of Karlstad Upper Secondary School (Karlstads Högre Allmänna Läroverk). About 150 years later, the collections were donated to the Botanical Mu- seum in Lund, which is now part of the Biological Museum. Among the collections once owned by Agardh were some plants that had been collected before his own time, but without any information on the collectors. Handwritten information can be found on the sheets with plants, and Otto Gertz, who knew Leche’s handwriting well from extensive studies of books belonging to Leche, claims that some of the pressed plants belonged to Leche, the vast majority of which have also been located in the herbarium in Lund. As was customary during that time, the plants were all dried and pressed, whereupon they were glued to a sheet of paper. Leche also introduced a method of pressing plants that is still used today. He put them, very care- fully, between two sheets of grey soft paper to preserve their characters and to let the moisture out of the plant.21 On the front of the sheets, the scientific name was written according to the binominal nomenclature of Linnæus’s Species plantarum. On the back, the class and order as well as the characteristic of the plant were often quoted from Species plantarum. Finally, the distribution and habitat were indicated. Most of Leche’s collections follow this pattern. Asperula tinctoria, one of Leche’s preserved plants (Fig. 12.2), is a species with its main distribution in Sweden on the islands of Öland and Gotland, but with scat- tered occurrences on the mainland, from Småland to Uppland. The root of the herb gives the yarn a beautiful red colour, something already mentioned by Linnæus.22 Two other species also found in the wild in Sweden are aspen Populus tremula and goat willow Salix caprea, both common deciduous trees described by Linnæus. On the back of the sheet with goat willow is stated ‘Europae siccis’, which means that the species grows in dry places in Europe. The corresponding text for aspen reads ‘Europae frigidioribus’ indicating that the species occurs in cold parts of Europe. Other plants in the collection originate from outside Sweden. Fritillaria pyrenaica (Fig. 12.3), also described by Linnæus, is found in the Pyrenees, on both the Spanish and the French sides. How the plant came into Leche’s possession is unclear. Anoth- er plant has its natural distribution in southern Europe, namely the amaryllis or daffodil, which Linnæus described as Narcissus odorus. However, this determination is incorrect, and it is instead Narcissus x incomparabilis, a hybrid cultivated in Swe- den for a long time. A sheet with Lobelia cliffortiana (Fig. 12.4) has also been in Leche’s possession and bears his inscription. Among other things, the distribution is mentioned as ‘Virgin-

21 Martin 1765, 25. 22 Linnæus 1742.

142 Herbarium Vivum

Fig. 12.4. Lobelia cliffortiana, another of Leche’s herbarium sheets. This species grows naturally in Central America. From the collections of Biological Museum in Lund. Photo Patrik Frödén.

143 Herbarium Vivum ia, Canada’, identification, which derives from Linnæus’s Species plantarum (1753). The species is included in an earlier work, Hortus Cliffortianus, from 1737. In this book, Linnæus, in collaboration with Georg Dionysius Ehret, described for the first time an English garden that he had seen in the Netherlands. The work was funded by George Clifford, the governor of the Dutch East India Company and an enthu- siastic plant grower. In Hortus Cliffortianus, the Lobelia is described as growing only in America ‘crescit in America’, while in Species plantarum the distribution is stated to be ‘Virginia, Canada’. With today’s taxonomy, Lobelia cliffortiana is known to be a species whose distribution extends over large parts of Central America, but not to Virginia or Canada. Linnæus had probably mixed up the different species of Lobelia, as some of them are indeed native to Virginia and Canada, information that is included for two other Lobelia species in Species plantarum. Anisodontea (Malva) capensis with notes from Leche’s hand has also, according to Gertz, been found in Lund’s herbarium with the same origin as the collections mentioned above, but this specimen could not be found. It has also been suggested that possibly a sheet with tamarind, Tamarindus indica, could have originated from Leche, but Gertz noted that although the written text on the sheet showed similarities to Leche’s handwriting, there were also certain deviations.23 These deviations are so notable that one must strongly doubt Leche’s involvement in this case. One of the plants in the Lund herbarium that Leche certainly collected in Finland is Ruppia maritima, described by Linnæus in 1753. The plant must have been collected after 1755, after the publication of Linnæus’s second edition of Flora Svecica, which described the distribution of the plant as limited to Bohuslän. In addition to Leche’s handwriting, the sheet also contains notes by Professor Otto Nordstedt: HB Zdt (Herbarium Zetterstedt) showing that the collection had been in the possession of Zetterstedt. It was previously unknown to us that the herbarium sheets mentioned above originated from Leche and perhaps there is more material in the Biological Museum from this period, waiting to be discovered among the about 2 million plant specimens we house.

23 Gertz 1926, 354.

144 Part III. Development of ethnographic collections in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries

145 Fig. 13.1. Ceremonial sceptre set with serpentine disc-shaped blade collected in 1842 by Captain Wer- ngren on the island of Ouvéa (LUHM 116). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

146 13. The South Seas objects and the development of ethnographic collections in the nineteenth century

Ulf Johansson Dahre

The late eighteenth century, besides expanding colonial enterprises, also saw a renewed scientific interest in non-European nature, cultures and societies. Many scientific expeditions to different parts of the world were conducted and the practice of ethnography, which included collecting objects intended to show different ways of life around the world, was developed. The interest in collecting objects, often called ‘curiosities from different parts of the world’, became part of the project of establishing ethnographic museums in many European cities in the nineteenth century. These museums became repositories of knowledge about the world. Ethno- graphic objects were considered distinct from art. Their cultural value was in the daily use of the objects, they showed how ‘other people’ lived. The collecting and display of ethnographic artefacts also had another aim: it was a means of showing how advanced the West was in relation to the rest of the world. In this sense, ethnographic collecting was part of colonialism. The ethnographic objects at Historical Museum at Lund University (LUHM) were acquired largely during the nineteenth century. The early ethnographic objects in the Stobæus collection from the eighteenth century are mainly from China and other parts of Asia.1 Some of these objects were donations from the Swedish East India Company.2

1 See Manhag, chapter 4 this volume. 2 The Swedish East-India Company was established in 1731 and dissolved in 1813. See Frängsmyr 1976.

147 The South Seas objects The Pacific collection

The objects from the Pacific in the LUHM collection were acquired in the mid-nineteenth century. There is no record that the museum obtained any of the Pacific objects that came to Sweden after Captain Cook’s voyages in the Pacific during the 1770s. Two students of Carl Linnæus participated in the Cook voyages. Daniel Solander was a member of the first voyage, while Anders Sparrman was part of the second. The objects from the first voyage formed the so-called ‘Banks Collection’. Joseph Banks, who was a member of the first Captain Cook voyage, had close contacts with the Swedish industrial family Alströmer in Alingsås. The Alströmer Pacif- ic collection was later donated to the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, and formed the first collection at the Ethnographic Museum in Stockholm in 1848.3 Many of the objects from the Pacific area that came to the museum in Lund are connected with global circumnavigations. Swedish round-the-world expeditions came rather late compared to the explorations by other countries. During the early nineteenth century, however, several round-the-world voyages resulted in establishing many ethnographic collections at different locations and museums in Sweden. The first such voyage under Swedish flag was the Brigantine Mary Ann in 1839–41. This voyage was sponsored by the well-known entrepreneur and industrialist Carl F. Liljewalch (1796–1870), who was born in Lund. Liljewalch, who, among many other things exported timber to Australia, sponsored two more round-the-world voyages, in 1841–43 and in 1843–46, with the Brigantine Bull.4 Many objects from the Pacific were acquired during these three journeys (Fig. 13.1–4). Liljewalch, a keen traveller himself, especially to China, donated objects to the Ethnographic Museum in Stockholm and to the Historical Museum in Lund.5 Returning to Sweden after the second journey, the captain of Bull Nils Werngren donated several collected objects to the Historical Museum at Lund University. Among the more notable objects was a sceptre from the island of Ouvéa, in the New Caledonia archipelago (Fig. 13.1).6 In 1842, Captain Werngren sailed with the Brig- antine Bull in the New Caledonia archipelago, searching for sandalwood. The demand for sandalwood in China had increased after the Indian supply had begun drying up. The sandalwood hunters were turning to the South Pacific islands in their efforts to find this ‘Chinese treasure’. After visiting several islands, Werngren was informed that the island of Ouvéa had plenty of sandalwood, or tapaka as the is- landers called it. Werngren and his crew sailed to the island and after landing they

3 Rydén 1963, 11. 4 Aspegren 1983; Östberg 1989. 5 Lunds Weckoblad 1845. 6 Östberg 1989, 97.

148 The South Seas objects

Fig. 13.2. Calabash from the South Pacific (LUHM 101) collected during Bull’s 1841–43 voyage. Pho- to: Gunnar Menander. approached the local chief, who was invited on board of the ship. They exchanged goods. Nails, iron and some tools were given to the chief. In return, Werngren later received a ceremonial sceptre, set with a greenstone blade. The commercial expeditions of Liljewalch were followed by other circumnavigations. The first Swedish naval voyage round the world was the Frigate Eugenie expedition in 1851–53.7 This expedition had political, trade and scientific purposes. There

7 Skogman 1855; Hägg 1999.

149 The South Seas objects

Fig. 13.3. Bird-headed war club from New Caledonia (LUHM 96) collected during Bull’s 1841–43 voyage. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

Fig. 13.4. Shark teeth sword from the South Pacific (LUHM 115) collected during Bull’s 1841–43 voyage. Photo: Gunnar Menander. were four scientifically trained persons on Eugenie. In addition, the Captain, Chris- tian A. Virgin, was also known for his interest in science and culture. The scientists were primarily interested in recording and collecting natural history specimens, but after talks with Bror E. Hildebrand, the founder of the Historical Museum in Stock- holm, it was decided that ethnographic materials would also be collected along the journey. Hildebrand’s emerging interest in ethnographic material from different parts of the world had its origin in his project to compare them with the Swedish archaeological objects in the museum. The comparative research method was widely applied at this time, especially in archaeology.8

8 Du Rietz, 1984, 7.

150 The South Seas objects Eugenie stopped at several islands in the Pacific. The journey went westward from Sweden. The first stop was the Galapagos Islands. This was followed by stops at Hawaii, French Polynesia (Tahiti), Inui or the so-called Savage Island, in the Cook Islands archipelago, Tonga, New Zealand, Australia, the Caroline Islands and Guam. More than 10,000 natural objects were collected during the Eugenie expedition. Captain Virgin also brought back to Sweden a considerable ethnographic collection. This collection seems later to have been dispersed in different museums in Sweden.9 The LUHM catalogue indicates that several of the ethnographic objects collected during the Eugenie expedition were acquired by the museum in 1855. The second Swedish naval voyage was the frigate Vanadis expedition in 1883–85. This expedition was seen by many scientists as a unique opportunity to substantial- ly increase the Swedish ethnographic collections.10 The main aims of the voyage were once again diplomatic and commercial, but the scientific goal had a larger role than the previous voyage by Eugenie. This voyage ended up bringing back more than 7500 objects to Sweden, plus several hundred photographs. However, it is still unclear if any of these objects are part of the ethnographic collection at LUHM. Some donations of ethnographic objects also came from private individuals. The botanist and Lund University professor Sven Berggren (1837–1917) made several journeys to different parts of the world. In 1873–75 he travelled to the Pacific and

Fig. 13.5. A feather ‘fan’ from the New Hebrides (LUHM 10618) donated in 1879 by Sven Berggren. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

9 Hägg 1999, 281–3. 10 Du Rietz, 1984, 17.

151 The South Seas objects

Fig. 13.6. A poncho made of the leaves from the paper mulberry tree from the New Hebrides (LUHM 10617) donated in 1879 by Sven Berggren. Photo: Gunnar Menander. collected mainly botanical specimens in Australia, New Zeeland and Hawaii (Sand- wich Islands). He also donated some ethnographic objects to the Historical Museum in Lund in 1879 (Fig. 13.5–6).

The birth of the ethnographic museum After the dissolution of many cabinets of curiosities in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the collections and objects formed the basis of new museums established according to modern scientific ideas of knowledge and art. The objects collected outside Europe, from what were often called ‘primitive societies’, formed the collections at ethnographic museums. One of the world´s first ethnographic museums was the Ethnographic Collection in Copenhagen. The archaeologist and museologist Chris- tian J. Thomsen (1788–1865) founded the museum in 1841. It was a very large complex, with 44 halls on three floors, and was considered the leading ethnographic museum in the world until the turn of the twentieth century. The collection consisted of objects from all continents of the world donated by eager travellers and explorers. Ethnographic museums were not only repositories of world cultures. They also functioned as teaching establishments and became the institutional homes for ethnol- ogists and anthropologists. The ethnographic museums were also sites for other kinds

152 The South Seas objects of pedagogy, as well as places where, in the era before television, film, mass tourism and the internet, the public could encounter the material evidence of different cultures of the world. In the nineteenth century, for those who did not or could not read ethnographic literature, the museum provided a window into the world outside Europe. Until at least the middle of the twentieth century, displays in ethnographic museums were therefore the product of a rather simple exhibition idea: objects represented distant cultures and distant places experienced, presented and described by anthropologists. However, as Nicholas Thomas put it, another effect of such illusions was to ‘represent the accomplishment of the voyage in more personal and diffuse terms.’11 The collection of curiosities also had to do with prestige and trophies of the mastery of a passage around the world on the part of the traveller, argued Thomas.

The social life of museum objects Along with the charge that the museums were elaborating exhibitions within a racist evolutionary framework, or displayed trophies of colonial enterprises, ethnographic museums have frequently been accused of being just outdated. In fact, when the curator of North American Ethnology at the Smithsonian Institution, William Sturtevant, published an essay entitled Does Anthropology Need Museums? in 1969, he concluded his survey of ethnographic museums by stating that they were ‘petrified institutions’ with a reputation as shabby as a ‘bordello’.12 Since Sturtevant´s critique, the purpose and practice of ethnographic museums have been transformed.13 Along with the impact of post-colonial politics and post-structuralist reflexivity, the current material turn in the social sciences has been particularly influential. Now it is generally thought that objects, like persons, can have agency and are resistant to the kind of timeless or derogatory representations that museums have tended to force upon them. Arjun Appadurai’s influential edited volume, The Social Life of Things, noted that objects have the capacity to express different meanings.14 This idea underlines that objects are always situated in different social and cultural contexts. In addition, one can argue, with reference to the objects at ethnographic museums, the classifications imposed upon them have increasingly been re-interpreted and viewed as context-dependent or even redundant. It is now quite clear that Sturtevant’s argument of petrified ethnographic museums is somewhat outdated. Instead, artefacts in ethnographic museums are being interpreted as having new social and cultural lives.

11 Thomas 1991, 143. 12 Cf. Harris & O’Hanlon 2013, 8. 13 Johansson Dahre 2019. 14 Appadurai 1986.

153 Fig. 14.1. ’Guiana’ clubs, LUHM 107 (left) and LUHM 106 (right). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

154 14. Two ‘Guiana war clubs’

Christian Feest

‘Guiana war clubs’ are an interesting and somewhat enigmatic group of South Amer- ican weapons that have entered European collections since the seventeenth century, generally without adequate documentation. Ranging in length from more than 140 to less than 20 cm, they are characterized by the rectangular cross-section of the shaft that gradually expands in width to the squarely cut-off top. Many of the clubs have incised or chip-carved designs, often filled with white pigment, in a section below the top. On a notable subtype, generally referred to as ‘block type’, the shaft also increases in thickness, with the top approaching a square shape, while the length remains below 50 cm. It is only on the ‘block type’ that one occasionally finds a blade, generally of stone, inserted into one of the narrow sides of the shaft (Fig. 14.1). The attribution of an origin from Guiana is based upon several subtypes, especially the block-type club, known to have been used in the eighteenth, nineteenth, and into the twentieth century by various indigenous groups in the Guianas and the adjoining portions of Brazil.1 However, in his survey of the distribution of clubs and ‘wooden swords’ in the Americas, Hans Dietschy2 pointed out that especially another subtype of these ‘quadrangular clubs’, measuring more than 100 cm in length and used as a bi-handed weapon, was observed in use in the sixteenth century among both the Arawak and Carib peoples of the Antilles. Dietschy suggests that many of the undocumented clubs of this kind found in early collections originated from the islands rather than from the mainland. In her discussion of four of these long clubs which had entered the Tradescant collection in London before 1656, the anthropologist Elizabeth Butt-Colson, who had carried out ethnographic fieldwork in British Guiana, noted ‘certain unusual features which seem to exclude a Guianese origin’,

1 Bray 2001. 2 Dietschy 1939, 166–73; see also Lovén 1924, 422–4.

155 Two ‘Guiana war clubs’

L Z BSG1 T1 1400 flat type S2 R1 T2 T5 BSG2 1300 block type C1 bladed club V4 C3 C2 T3 1200 BNP1 17th c. documented date in collection B1 S3 T4 Li1 Li2 C4 1100 18th c. documented date in collection S4

1000 19th c. documented date in collection M4

900 20th c. documented date in collectiom P1 EM2 C5 800 BM2 S1 L1 B2 L8 V5 D7 700 Lem Dr1 PH1 R5 D4 600 Lj G V2 B5 L2 D5 R4 O1 M3 V1 D3 PH2 500 N1 L3 F3 B4 PH2 D6 M2 M1 EM10 PH3 O3Gi2O2 F6 F4 BM2 P3 W1 Dr2BM1 R3 O4 L4EM9 CuB3 Lu2F1 400 Gi4 PH6 F2EM8F7 D2 O7 O5 He W3Ha L4 W2 PH11 L6 W4 D1 Gi3 R2 T20 O8 O9 300 O11 D8 W5 Lu2 PH12 O12 L7 PH13 200 PH15 L11 PH16 100

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 L/W

Fig. 14.2. Flat, block and bladed ‘Guiana war clubs’ by dimensions (length, length/maximum width ratio) and dates. The diagram includes data on 115 specimens for which measurements were available and does not include other subtypes, such as the ‘paddle-shaped varieties’ described and illustrated by Roth (1924, 172–173, fig. 58b–g). Dates refer to time of accession; field collection may in some cases have been considerably earlier. Lund clubs are marked in blue. Drawing: Christian Feest. and even suggested tentatively that they may have been the work of ‘Bush Negroes’.3 It is most likely that the clubs in question did in fact originate among indigenous groups in the area of British colonial explorations on the Guiana coast,4 but since these war clubs were no longer made even in the early twentieth century5 their former existence could not be documented through ethnographic fieldwork. A comparative study of almost 300 of these ‘Guiana’ clubs made in preparation for this study shows that the differences in dimensions and their proportions are gradual, with no clear break in the sequence. However, a selection of the sample, plotted by length and the length/maximal width proportion clearly shows the lon- gest and flattest clubs had been collected during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the medium and smaller flat clubs in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and the ‘block type’ mostly in the nineteenth century (Fig. 14.2). This suggests that the long clubs were mostly collected in areas near the coast (including perhaps

3 Butt-Colson 1983, 118, 119 note 43. Based on the identification of the wood, Ostapowicz, Thistle- wood & Block (2018) have shown that the Tradescant clubs must have been made in an area extending from Trinidad to French Guyana. 4 Bray 2001, 256–7. 5 Roth 1924, 171–3, fig. 53.

156 Two ‘Guiana war clubs’ the islands as well), and that they more or less disappeared with the decimation of the coastal populations. Two ‘Guiana clubs’, one of the smaller flat variety (LUHM 106) and a bladed ‘block type’ specimen (LUHM 107), entered the collection in Lund on two different occasions before 1805, in both cases along with a group of other objects of Guianese origin (including a beaded apron (LUHM 112) and a conical cap (LUHM 108).6 The recently discovered relevant documentary evidence will therefore be discussed separately in connection with each of the specimens. The catalogue of the Historical Museum at Lund University (LUHM), compiled in 1855 describes them as ‘Två Tomahavken från Norre (?) Amerika, den ene med en fastbunden vass sten’ (Two tomahawks from North (?) America, one of them with a sharp stone tied to it). ‘Tomahawk’ is an English loanword from Eastern Algonquian languages of North America, originally used to refer to bladed weapons, such as European metal axes, but very quickly also to all kinds of ‘savage’ war clubs from the Americas and elsewhere. It is only by coincidence that the ‘Guiana clubs’ in the Tradescant collection were listed under the heading ‘Tamahack, 6 sorts’.7 The notion of a North American origin of these clubs had already been articulated in 1822 by the antiquarian Nils H. Sjöborg, who was also curator of the collection in Lund, when he referred to the bladed specimen (LUHM 107, Fig. 14.3) in connection with a comparative discussion of the hammer of Thor, the Norse god associated with thunder: ‘In the Historical Museum in Lund, we have a fighting club, Fig. 126, from the ancient wilds in Pennsylvania in North America’.8 This may indicate that Sjöborg assumed the clubs to have been part of the collection brought from Philadelphia by Samuel Hesselius and presented to the Museum Stobæanum in 1736.9 It turns out that Sjöborg was able to locate another similar but not bladed ‘block- type’ club in the collection of the Royal Academy of Science in Stockholm (Kungli- ga Vetenskapsakademien),10 donated in 1797 by Samuel Fahlberg, who is said to have collected it after 1784 in what was then the Swedish colony Saint Barthélemy in the Lesser Antilles.11 Apparently based upon information associated with the club in Stockholm, Sjöborg reports that this weapon was ‘used by the natives on trips as a protective device’. Given that the indigenous Carib population of Saint Barthélemy

6 See Manhag, chapter 4 this volume. 7 Tradescant 1656, 46. 8 Sjöborg 1822–30, vol. I, 131. 9 Manhag & Wittrock 2019; see also Manhag, chapter 4 and 5 this volume. 10 Now in the Etnografiska museet, Stockholm, cat.no. 1797.01.0013. The digitized catalogue (Stat- ens Etnografiska Museum, Generalkatalog, 1736–1850) is available on https://archive.org/stream/Gen- eralkatalog1736-1850/File#mode/2up. 11 Lindblom 1924.

157 Two ‘Guiana war clubs’

Fig. 14.3. Wooden club with incised designs and inserted stone blade, plaited strips of vegetable material, multiple cotton string erroneously attached to blade (LUHM 107). Length 31 cm. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

158 Two ‘Guiana war clubs’ had largely disappeared by the 1780s,12 it is more likely that, like some of the other items in Fahlberg’s collection, the club had come from the Guianas.13 Rather than using the comparative evidence to identify the war club in Lund as coming from the same location as the one in Stockholm, Sjöborg opined that there was ‘reason to believe that peoples who were in the same state of ignorance of the acquisition and use of metals invented the same kind of weapons of war’.14 The Fahlberg club not only lacks a blade, it is also without incised decorations. However, it shares with its Lund companion the cover of the grip formed by a broad band of plaited strips of vegetable material forming a black-and-natural zigzag pattern. These plaited bands are much less common than the wrapping of the handle with strings or bands of cotton and may therefore be considered diagnostic. They are most frequently encountered on specimens collected in Suriname, but are also found on an exceptionally well-documented specimen collected among the Caribs of Venezuela in 1729.15 On the Fahlberg club (as on many other Guiana-style block clubs), a loop made of multiple cotton strings is attached near the lower edge of the plaited band. On the Lund specimen, this loop must have become detached at an early date and wrapped around the top of the club and the blade. The illustration published in Sjöborg already shows this condition (Fig. 14.4).16 In 1880–81 Knut H. Stolpe, an entomologist, archaeologist and anthropologist, and the driving force behind the establishment of an ethnographic museum in Stockholm (the present Etnografiska Museet), undertook a monumental study of the ‘Guiana clubs’ based on visits to numerous European museums, where he documented the incised and chip-carved patterns by means of more the 3000 rub- bings.17 The plates in the resulting book on American ornamental art18 continue to be a treasure trove for students of Guiana clubs. The accompanying text does not discuss them, partly no doubt because only superficial efforts had been made to reconstruct their collection histories. Both ‘Guiana clubs’ from the Historical Mu- seum in Lund were included in Stolpe’s book, and one may even speculate that these were the first Guiana clubs with which he became familiar because his first academic employment had been as Lecturer in Nordic Archaeology at Lund University.

12 In his report on the natural history of St. Barthélemy, Fahlberg (1786) makes no reference to any indigenous population on the island. 13 On Fahlberg, see Hildebrand 1956 (accessed 2019-12-26); Reinhartz 2012; Veres 2018. Samu- el Fahlberg, https://sok.riksarkivet.se/sbl/artikel/14963, Svenskt biografiskt lexikon (art av Ingegerd Hildebrand.), accessed on 2019-12-26. 14 Sjöborg 1822–30, vol. I, 131. 15 Feest & Kann 1986, 355; see also Bray 2001, 258. 16 Sjöborg 1822–30, vol. I, pl. 41, fig. 126. 17 Culin 1906; Svensson 2002. 18 Stolpe 1896.

159 Two ‘Guiana war clubs’

Fig. 14.4. Illustration of bladed wooden club (LUHM 107) in Sjöberg 1822–1830, vol. I, pl. 41.

160 Two ‘Guiana war clubs’ The bladed block club appears on Stolpe’s plate VIII figs. 5a, c, and d (5b is missing and may have been left out because the design corresponds closely to fig. 5a). It is shown as part of the very heterogeneous group C of anthropomorphic representations (‘raised hands, head often missing’). The mostly curvilinear and highly stylized motif shown on the wide sides of the shaft is placed between two double rows of rectangular blocks; the narrow sides show large S-shapes. Comparisons within this design group and with clubs of other design groups do not permit the identification of a specific ethnic style. With a length of just 31 cm, the Lund block club is in the lower range of the Guiana block clubs studied. While it may have served a useful purpose in hand-to- hand combat, it is more likely to have been used as a status symbol or ceremonial object. Manhag (chapter 4, this volume) has shown that LUHM 107 must have entered the museum collections between 1780 and 1805 and suggested that it may have been collected in Suriname in 1755–56 by the naturalist Daniel Rolander who subsequently moved to Lund, where he died in 1793. There is nothing that would exclude this possibility, but it should be noted that it would make it the earliest documented bladed Guiana club in existence (which would also be true if collected by somebody else before 1805). The other club (LUHM 106, Fig. 14.5), measuring 44 cm in length, is one of the shortest in the series of flat clubs studied and may therefore be regarded also to have been collected toward the end of the period when these clubs were made. Its incised designs, however, are closely related to those found on much earlier and longer clubs. Stolpe assigns it to group A1 of anthropomorphic ornaments;19 but since the derivation of the pattern from an anthropomorphic representation is extremely unlikely, it may be better to use the term ‘diamond and curl motif’,20 of which Stolpe’s design group A1 is a subtype characterized by diamonds made up of two triangles (each with two curls on the outside and one on the inside) and by ample use of cross-hatching around the diamonds and curls (Fig. 14.6). Most of these clubs can be shown to have entered European collections during the eighteenth century, which is in line with the documented accession date for LUHM 106. According to Manhag, the earliest documented date for LUHM 106 is 1759 when it was listed as a specimen of Brazilian wood.21 However, he also presents suggestive evidence that it may have been collected in 1732 by Captain Laurentz Brander who after his return from an exploratory trip to the Barima River in present-day Vene-

19 Stolpe 1896, pl. I, fig. 5. 20 Bray 2001, 257. 21 Manhag, chapter 4 this volume.

161 Two ‘Guiana war clubs’

Fig. 14.5. Wooden club with incised designs (LUHM 106). Length 44 cm. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

Fig. 14.6. ‘Diamond-and-curl’ motifs on LUHM 106 and other eighteenth-century flat ‘Guiana war clubs’: A. LUHM 106, after Stolpe, 1896, pl. I, fig. 5; B. Musée d’Histoire Naturelle, Lille, cat.no. 990-2-2217 (ex Bibliothèque Municipiale de la Ville de Versailles), after Stolpe, 1896, pl. I, fig. 11; C. Städtisches Museum, Braunschweig, cat.no. A IV d 232 (ex Herzog Anton Ulrich-Museum), after Stolpe, 1896, pl. I, fig. 10; D. Herzogliches Museum Gotha, 314 W/1764.56, not in Stolpe, 1896; E. Hessisches Landesmuseum, Darmstadt, cat.no. 605 (collected 1750–1786 in Berbice, Suriname, by Johann Isaak Adami), not in Stolpe, 1896. Note that the curls on A are laterally reversed.

162 Two ‘Guiana war clubs’

Fig. 14.7. Women’s apron (LUHM 112). Glass beads and cotton. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

zuela intended to present to the King of Sweden a group of objects matching some of the Guiana artefacts now in Lund, including a wooden war club. The trapezoidal women’s apron made of glass beads (LUHM 112, Fig. 14.7) appears to have been acquired together with LUHM 107. While aprons with geomet- ric designs have a wide distribution in Guiana from the eighteenth to the twentieth century, those with highly stylized floral motifs, as on the Lund apron, are found especially in collections dating from the second half of the eighteenth century, close to the time when aprons of glass beads began to be made.22 None of these aprons have specific provenances, although French and Dutch collections may indicate Guyana and Suriname as a source. The pieces from Herrnhut are most probably from the Moravian missions in Guyana or Suriname. A similar apron collected in 1812 by Lt. Westwood on the Essequibo River in British Guiana shows that the style was characteristic more of a period than of a particular part of the Guianas.23 Ro- lander noted such aprons in his travel diary, and both a collection date of 1755 and a provenience from Suriname would be in line with the comparative evidence.24 Conical caps made from the spathe or leaf sheath of the troolie palm Manicaria saccifera are only slightly modified naturefacts soaked in water and extended to the right size. They were apparently worn by men and boys in various parts of the area

22 e.g., Musée du quai Branly, Paris, cat.nos. 71.1878.32.93 (ex Bibliothèque Nationale); Herzog Anton Ulrich-Museum, Braunschweig, cat.nos. Am7, Am8, Am9 (see Schmitz 2016, 241–243); Völk- erkundemuseum Herrnhut, cat.nos. 66831, 66832 (see Augustin 2003, 129); Tropenmuseum, Amster- dam, cat.nos. A-6131g and m (ex Natura Artis Magistra), 4847-16, -17); Weltmuseum Wien, cat.no. 242. On Guiana aprons made of glass beads, see also Roth 1924, 445–6. 23 Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford, cat.no. 1886.1.938 (ex Ashmolean Museum). 24 Rolander 2008, 1320

163 Two ‘Guiana war clubs’

Fig. 14.8. Men’s conical cap (LUHM 108). Spathe of the troolie palm (Manicaria saccifera). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

164 Two ‘Guiana war clubs’ of the distribution of these palm trees. Roth cites evidence for their use in the nineteenth century in various parts of British Guiana, but also in southern Venezuela.25 They appear in French collections from the late eighteenth century,26 but also in Dutch collections from Suriname,27 and without provenance in a pre-1811 collection in Vienna28 and in the collection of Prince Maximilian of Wied in Stuttgart.29 The conical cap in Lund (LUHM 108, Fig. 14.8) may indeed be the ‘cap or hat’ brought in 1732 by Captain Brander from the Barima River. While this ‘braided hat’ is supposed to have been destroyed in the nineteenth century, it would not be the first time that an object considered lost was later rediscovered under a new designation. There appears to be no separate catalogue record for LUHM 108 before 1855 and the texture of the leaf sheath may have been mistaken for some kind of braiding, especially since no ‘braided hats’ were worn by the indigenous peoples of the Guianas. If so, the Lund ‘cap’ would be the earliest such item known to have survived.

25 Roth 1924, 428. 26 Musée du quai Branly, cat.nos, 71.1934.33.233D, 71.1934.33.234D (ex Bibliothèque Municipale de la Ville de Versailles). 27 Tropenmuseum, Amsterdam, cat.nos. A-6130a-e (ex Natura Artis Magistra). 28 Weltmuseum Wien, cat.nos. 267–269. 29 Linden-Museum, Stuttgart, cat.nos. 36074, 35049.

165 Fig. 15.1. Penobscot model canoe (LUHM 94). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

166 15. Penobscot model canoe and moccasins

Magdalena Naum

Introduction In the eclectic group of Native American objects that arrived at the museum in the nineteenth century, there is a model of a canoe with a set of dolls and tools (LUHM 94, Fig. 15.1) and a pair of child-size moccasins (LUHM 95, Fig. 15.2). The museum inventory and earlier research mistakenly identified these objects as originating from the Delaware area.1 The pointed bow and the double curve decoration of the canoe, as well as the style of the female doll’s headdress, is of Wabanaki, and more specifically of Penobscot origin.2 The Algonkian-speaking Penobscot, whose traditional economy centred on seasonal hunting, fishing and limited scale horticulture, were one of the major Native American groups of northeastern America. Their original land holdings stretched along the Atlantic coast, between the drainage of the Saco River in the south to the Union River in the north, an area located within the modern borders of the state of Maine.3 In the late seventeenth century, in the wake of the colonial wars, English and French encroachments and decimating epidemics, the Penobscot allied with their culturally related neighbours, the Abenaki, Maliseet and Passamaquoddy (and later on with the Mi’kmaq) to form the Wabanaki Con- federacy. At the time the model and moccasins had been collected, the Confederacy still existed, although in a politically weakened state. By the 1830s, the tribes had

1 Becker 1992. 2 Speck 1914, fig. 4; Bourque & LaBar 2009. I would like to thank Laurie LaBar, Maine State Museum for help with assessing the model. A very similar example of a model canoe collected in the nineteenth century and identified as an early historic Penobscot River style canoe is in the collections of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University, 99-12-10/52976. 3 Snow 1978, 137–8.

167 Penobscot model canoe and moccasins

Fig. 15.2. A pair of child-size moccasins (LUHM 95). Photo: Gunnar Menander. lost the majority of their territory following a century-long series of land transfers, sales and expropriations by the colonial and U.S. governments. The Penobscot territory was reduced to a narrow strip of land along the Penobscot River.

The objects and their collector The model is a miniaturized representation of a canoe, Penobscot/Wabanaki dress and fishing equipment, and is accurate and realistic in terms of its material, technique and aesthetics. The canoe is made of birch bark, and its exterior is decorated with an incised double curve motif, which, according to the anthropologist Frank Speck, represented the bonds of alliance uniting members of a family, clan or tribe.4 Inside the canoe were three dolls representing a family. The female doll wears a distinctive peaked cap made of red wool broadcloth with a light blue border and trimmed with white glass beads. The doll is dressed in a long red skirt trimmed with pink and blue silk ribbons and a white silk tunic trimmed with a dark blue ‘shawl’. The male doll wears a cap of faded red and black wool trimmed with a pale blue silk ribbon and white glass beads. The doll is dressed in a tunic of tartan pattern and

4 Speck 1914, 4–5.

168 Penobscot model canoe and moccasins black coat with long sleeves made of wool broadcloth. The front opening of the coat is trimmed with pale silk ribbon; the coat is decorated with an orange ‘braided’ application. The dress is completed by a wide belt of white fabric and metal. The model also includes a wooden cradleboard with a swaddled ‘baby’ made of textiles, two paddles and a leister for spearing fish (Figs. 15.1, 3). The same collector, perhaps wishing to complete the representation of Penobscot wardrobe, and following the theme of miniature, acquired a pair of small, child-size moccasins. The moccasins are made of light-coloured hide and are lined with linen. The vamp and the cuffs are made of red wool trimmed with blue and yellow ribbon and embroidered with white glass beads. They appear to be unworn. The materials used to make the model and moccasins are both indigenous (birch bark, wood, hide) and European, but they are incorporated into indigenous culture as a result of the centuries of colonial trade (cloth, silk ribbons, glass beads). Beads and wool broadcloth, in particular, became popular items among the Wabanaki tribes and were routinely included in the assortment of goods received in exchange for land, furs and beaver pelts – commodities sought after by the European traders and white settlers. From 1820, when Maine became a state and took over the man- agement of tribal assets, red, blue and black wool broadcloth became a part of the annuity paid to the Native peoples in exchange for extensive land deeds and as an expression of the state guardianship. The model and moccasins were donated to the museum in the late 1830s by Hen- rik L. Sundevall (1814–84). Sundevall was born in Högestad, in southern Sweden. As a teenager, he worked as a cabin boy on the ships of the Swedish merchant fleet in the Baltic Sea. Later, he enrolled at the Swedish Naval Academy in Karlskrona. He graduated as an officer in 1835 and embarked on a long maritime carrier that took him around the world. In 1836, he briefly joined a crew of the United States Revenue Cutter Hamilton, a Navy Coast Guard ship that operated out of Boston, patrolling the northeastern coast.5 In the 1830s, the cutter was known to sail as far as Nova Scotia, along the Maine coast of the United States, which was inhabited by the Wabanaki tribes. Very little is known about Sundevall’s experiences in America. It is possible that he acquired the canoe and moccasins in one of the northern ports visited by the Hamilton or that he purchased them in Boston. At that time, the Native Americans were known to have travelled to major cities, including Boston, to sell their wares and tourist souvenirs.6

5 Muster Rolls of Revenue Cutter, TNA. 6 Phillips 1998, 32–3; Neptune 2008, 25.

169 Penobscot model canoe and moccasins

Fig. 15.3. Close-up of the model canoe (LUHM 94). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

170 Penobscot model canoe and moccasins Native American souvenir production

The souvenirs acquired and donated to the museum by Sundevall represent the complex relationships that the Penobscot and other indigenous groups in the region maintained with European and Euro-American settlers and visitors.7 Many Euro- peans, intrigued about the indigenous customs and ways of life, began to satisfy their curiosity by arranging tours to the native villages to observe daily life and ceremonial dances performed specifically for the visitors. The popularity of such touristic experiences increased in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries in tandem with the Romantic era’s veneration and search for the sublime, picturesque and unspoiled and with the growth of the popularity of tourism among the middle classes. The tours also created a demand for Native American objects and curiosities that would capture the tourists’ experiences. Making and selling souvenirs – canoe models, baskets, boxes, moccasins and mats – evolved into a regular commercial activity and a form of interaction between the Wabanaki and the Europeans and Euro-Americans.8 In the second half of the nineteenth century, Indian agents across the Northeast complained that rather than engaging in agriculture, the indigenous people preferred making baskets, beadwork and other objects for sale at regional markets and tourist resorts. Making and selling souvenirs became essential to many local economies in the wake of Euro-American encroachment on land, depletion of resources and dispossession.9 Socio-economic conditions, the popularity and the profitability of Wabanaki craft and tourist art enticed the indigenous artists and merchants to offer their wares at the major tourist sites and resorts, urban markets and rural areas through door-to-door sales. Tourist art played an uneasy role in the representation and commoditization of Indianness. Ruth Phillips, in her study of objects produced by the Native Americans for tourists, pointed out that the souvenirs’ types and forms stemmed from the in- teractions between indigenous and Western aesthetics and forced the makers to engage with the question of what and who is American Indian for the predominantly white, Euro-American tourists. The indigenous makers had to ‘reimagine themselves in terms of the conventions of Indianness current among the consumer group’.10 This re-imagination was particularly problematic in fashioning miniature dolls as elements of models and toys.

7 Brasser 1978, 78. 8 Phillips 1998, 24–36, 87; Phillips 2017. 9 Phillips 1998, 24–5. 10 Phillips 1998, 9.

171 Penobscot model canoe and moccasins

The fashioning of a doll in the image of oneself […] required Aboriginal artists to see themselves as the objects of the European gaze and to privilege, within their self-representations, those features that most interested the European other. The market demanded images in which Native people explicitly displayed the ‘typical’, and the typical soon became equated with ‘different’. The production of souvenirs, then, was instrumental in the construction of a new consciousness of self and other’.11

Phillips argued that this exercise, while profoundly destabilizing for indigenous concepts of identity, also offered a possibility of cultural survival and direct confron- tation with colonial ideologies and policies of assimilation of the American and Canadian governments.

Souvenirs and the notion of indigenous culture The popularity of Native American souvenirs as objects attractive to tourists and as representations of indigenous culture is described in travel narratives and other historical accounts. This popularity is also evident from a review of the collections of other European and North American museums, which retain numerous examples of objects from Northeast America.12 A large number of objects collected by German mercenaries participating in the American Revolutionary War campaigns in the St. Lawrence River valley can be found in the German museums in Darmstadt, Göt- tingen and Braunschweig.13 The majority of these Wabanaki objects are moccasins and models. Canoe models and moccasins are also present in the collections of numerous ethnographic and historical museums, among them Bern, Neuchatel, Yverdon-les-Bains, Paris, Edinburgh, Cambridge and Oxford.14 The particular popularity of model canoes and moccasins might have stemmed from their strong association with Native American lifestyle. They materialized a popular stereotype of indigenous culture. For the Wabanaki and other Eastern Woodland peoples, the canoes were an essential technology in the riverine and coastal landscape, a convenient and indispensable mode of transportation for a local economy relying on fishing and procurement of aquatic resources as well as in maintaining social networks across the landscape. In the Euro-American imagination, however, the canoe assumed a special significance as a symbol of the Native American’s ‘free’ nomadic way of life, lack of attach-

11 Phillips 1998, 87. 12 Phillips 1998, 81–6; Grimes et al. 2002, 92–102. 13 Feest 2007b. 14 Thompson 1977; Phillips & Idiens 1994; Feest 2007a.

172 Penobscot model canoe and moccasins

Fig. 15.4. A 1920 postcard depicting men in canoes at Indian Island, Penobscot River, Old Town, Maine. Courtesy of the Maine Folklife Center Collection of the University of Maine. ment to the land and close association with pristine nature.15 This symbolism was frequently embraced in travel narratives, historical accounts and literature, where canoes were the chosen indigenous means of transportation, skilfully steered by the Native American scouts and guides through torrents and gorges and equated with freedoms and uncertainties of mobile life and mastery of wilderness.16 Sundevall might have been familiar with the symbolism of the canoe, and it is quite likely that he had seen the Wabanaki paddling canoes along the coastal waters and visiting ports. In the early decades of the nineteenth century, birch bark canoes continued to be a relatively common sight in northeast harbours, as the indigenous peoples carried on their own economic activity of trading with the sailors and selling souvenirs (Fig. 15.4). Beyond its representational value – capturing the typical aspects of indigenous culture and ways of life – the appeal of the model canoe as a souvenir might have stemmed from its biographical aspects. The canoe’s references to the geography and the cultural settings of northeast America that Sundevall came to know first-hand, as well as its connection to water and navigation, must have had strong emotional significance for the young officer embarking on his nautical career far from home.

15 Phillips 1998, 81; Sayre 1997, 9–10; Stevens 2018, 481. 16 Chateaubriand 1814, 67–8; Fennimore Cooper 1856, 58–60, 95, 117–8, 256, 258–67.

173 Fig. 16.1. Sinew-backed bow collected in California or Oregon (LUHM 5584). Photo: Gunnar Menander. 174 16. Arrows and bow from Oregon and Northern California

Magdalena Naum

Introduction In the ethnographic collections of the museum, there is a small group of objects originating from the Pacific coast of North America and collected in the early nineteenth century. They include a bow (LUHM 5584; Fig. 16.1) and two sets of arrows collected in Oregon and Northern California in 1845 (LUHM 5581-5586), a soft woven basket from the lower or central areas of the Columbia River in Oregon1 (LUHM 130, Fig. 16.2), and a wooden bowl and spoon from Tlingit territory in southwestern Alaska (LUHM 6415, Fig. 16.3). The wooden raven and beaver effigy grease bowl is particularly remarkable. Although the bowl was acquired by the museum in the nineteenth century, the style of the rim and the traces of repairs indicate that it might be of earlier, eighteenth-century origin.2 Among Tlingit and other Pacific coast Alaskan peoples, wooden bowls were used for serving oils and grease, such as oolachen (candlefish) grease, a condiment eaten with dried fish and meat during potlatch (i.e. communal feasts). The effigies of raven and beaver carved in the bowl represent animals with deep mythological significance for the Alaskan peoples. For example, the Tlingit believed themselves to be descendants and part of the clan of the raven, who was regarded as a creator of the world as well as a sly trickster.3

1 Feest (2002, 85) described the basket as originating from the Middle Columbia River region of Oregon and probably made by Wishram/Wasco tribes. The curators at the Seattle Art Museum and Maryhill Museum of Art (personal communication with Steve Grafe, 13 April, 2017) identify it as a full-wrapped twined basket that is probably of Lower Chehalis, Clatsop, or possibly Tillamook origin. 2 I would like to thank Ashley McClelland, curator at the Burke Museum, for help in assessing the bowl. 3 Swanton 1909. 175 Arrows and bow from Oregon and Northern California

Fig. 16.2. Soft woven basket from the area of lower or central Columbia River (LUHM 130). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

Fig. 16.3. Tlingit beaver and raven effigy wooden bowl (LUHM 6415). Photo: Gunnar Menander.

176 Arrows and bow from Oregon and Northern California The bow and arrows

Unfortunately, little is known about the circumstances of how the bowl and the soft basket were acquired. There is significantly more archival information about the bow and arrows, however. The bow, LUHM 5584, is sinew-backed, biconvex in cross section with a grip approximately 13 cm in length, wrapped with leather string (Fig. 16.1). It measures 103 cm in length. The bow is thickly backed with sinew, which is brought around the ends to form hook-shaped nocks. In the nineteenth century inventories, the bow is described as Californian. Stylistically and technologically, it resembles other bows collected along the American west coast in the early nineteenth century, now found in European and American collections.4 The arrows form two distinctive groups. LUHM 5581 and 5582 are self-arrows of very similar construction (Fig. 16.4). They are, respectively, 54 and 59 cm long, made of reeds, tipped with stone arrowheads hefted with sinew and fletched with two short feathers each; these are attached to the shaft with sinew woven through the entire length of the feathers. The arrows LUHM 5583, 5585 and 5586 form another group (Fig. 16.5). These are compound arrows, 83 to 95.5 cm in length, made of reeds with foreshaft and shaft joined with sinew; each is fletched with three feathers painted on one side and attached to the shaft with sinew wrapped at both ends of the feathers. Each arrow has unique riband markings painted in brownish red and black. LUHM 5586 is missing the arrowhead; the arrowhead of LUHM 5583 is made of stone and LUHM 5585 is obsidian. That arrow also bears a handwritten inscription providing important clues about the identity of the collector, date and origins of the object. The inscription reads: ‘This arrow was brought home in 1846 from the Ore- gon area by Olof Eduard Liljevalch’.

4 Hudson & Bates 2014, 71–8; Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard Uni- versity, 99-12-10/52947-52950.

177 Arrows and bow from Oregon and Northern California

Fig. 16.4. Two self-arrows Fig. 16.5. Three compound arrows from (LUHM 5581 and 5582). Oregon (LUHM 5583, 5585 and 5586). Photo: Gunnar Menander. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

178 Arrows and bow from Oregon and Northern California Liljewalch, circumnavigation of Bull and ethnographic collecting

Eduard Olof Liljewalch (1833–1915) was the son of Carl Fredrik Liljewalch, an entrepreneur who was the first to outfit Swedish ships for commercial voyages around the world. He was also a regular supplier of ethnographic objects to the museum.5 The brigantine Bull, with Eduard on board, was Liljewalch’s third global expedition. The ship left Stockholm in October 1843 and during its nearly three-year long journey visited and traded in Australia, the South Pacific islands, Hawaii, Hong Kong, Kamchatka and on the American west coast.6 Eduard was only ten years old when the ship left Stockholm. Groomed by his father to take over family business, the boy was supposed to learn English and gain a basic understanding of the world and business practices. His mentor was Nils Werngren, the ship’s captain, a trusted and highly capable sailor, skilled in navigation and commerce, and a keen collector.7 The circumstances of collecting and bequeathing the bow and arrows are described in a letter from Eduard’s cousin, Peter Olof Liljewalch, to Sven Nilsson, professor of natural history and at the time rector at Lund University. In the letter, dated June 25, 1846, P. O. Liljewalch informs Nilsson, his close friend, that he has recently received an arrow from Oregon and inquires if he remembers correctly that Nilsson has never seen a complete example and is curious about its construction. He offers to send the arrow to him at the next convenient opportunity. Liljewalch also writes that he does not intend to keep the arrow for himself; he wants to donate it in the collector’s name to the Historical Museum in Lund. He goes on to explain the identity of the collector and the context of the acquisition:

Through the gifts that captain Werngren from Malmö has sent to the museum in Lund, uncle [i.e. Nilsson] knows that the brigantine Bull, owned by the merchant and China agent [Carl Fredrik] Liljewalch, has arrived home and, from the newspapers, uncle already knows that Liljewalch’s oldest son, now 12.5 years old, was on the ship during its 2.5 years of sailing. This is the lad who brought and gave me the mentioned arrow from the Oregon area. He also brought 5-6 other arrows, but more or less damaged, as well as a bow. The majority of savages in the Oregon area are now using flint rifles, but many are still equipped only with bows and arrows, which they use with expertise. The lad also brought two models of canoes, which he gave to his younger brother.8

5 See Johansson Dahre, chapter 13, this volume. 6 Aspegren 1983, 56–60; Östberg 1989, 60–92. 7 Aspegren 1983, 20–8, 54, 61. 8 Liljewalch, P. O to Nilsson, S. 25 June 1846, LUB. Author’s translation.

179 Arrows and bow from Oregon and Northern California The fact that the bow and set of arrows made it to Nilsson shortly after P. O. Liljew- alch sent the letter indicates that the Lund scholar was indeed interested in the objects. He incorporated them into his private collection, identifying the bow and two of the arrows as Californian. Only the arrow with obsidian arrowhead was recognized as originating from Oregon, and it was inscribed with Eduard’s name. Subsequently, Nilsson sold the bow and arrows, as well as some of his other collections to the museum. The brigantine’s stay in Oregon and the voyage along the northwest coast were also recorded in a brief entry in captain Werngren’s journal. Unfortunately, he does not mention anything about acquiring the objects. However, he specifies the dock- ing place as Fort Vancouver and provides a brief description of the interaction between his crew and the Native Americans:

On July 16 [1845], we sailed through the breakers in the estuary of the Columbia River in Oregon. […] I sailed up the river for 90 miles before I found a person to report our arrival. Here, the Hudson Bay Company has established fur trade with the Indians in a place called Fort Vancouver, where no European vessel has visited before.9 I pressed further up the river and bartered with half-savages and somewhat better people.

Down the river, it went faster with the current. Passed by and visited an island in the middle of the river, where the Indians buried their dead placing them in a canoe, well dressed and equipped, and covered with mats. We saved a young Indian, who was about to be burned on the occasion of his chieftain’s funeral. In the estuary of Co- lumbia, we almost shipwrecked; the wind died down and we were caught between the surging breakers.10

The Bull stayed on the Columbia River for almost two months, engaging in trade and repairing the foremast at Fort Vancouver. The Native Americans with whom the crew interacted while sailing along the river were Chinookian, who inhabited the lower and middle sections of the Columbia. The journal entry reads as if at least some bartering took place directly on the river. This was a relatively common practice for European and American mariners in the area, a continuation of a form of interaction shaped during the early encounters of the final decades of the eighteenth century and early years of the nineteenth century. Earlier expeditions, such as those of George Vancouver (1792), Meriwether Lewis and William Clark (1805–06) and the British schooner Columbia (1814–17) noted the spontaneous exchange of objects with the natives passing by the ships in their canoes – ‘bartering their bows and arrows, which, with their woolen and skin garments, and a very few indifferent

9 Werngren exaggerates here. By 1845, Columbia had already been explored and visited by British ships beginning with George Vancouver’s expedition in 1792. 10 Östberg 1989, 83. Author’s translation. 180 Arrows and bow from Oregon and Northern California sea-otter skins, composed the whole of their assortment of trading.’11 Peter Corney, the first mate of Columbia, remarked about the encounters along the coast of northern California and Oregon: ‘canoes came off, and the natives appeared quite friend- ly. We bought several good otter skins; at an ax for each skin; many bows, arrows, daggers, etc., for small beads.’12 By the time the Bull made its stop in Oregon, the contact became more frequent and regular, due mostly to the establishment of the permanent Hudson Bay Company headquarters in Fort Vancouver in 1824.13 The exchanges of objects on the river and the coast continued, and the Native Americans began to bring along souvenirs and portable items in anticipation of exchanges. These were objects of the type known to have been popular among the European and American sailors, and they were objects that the indigenous people were willing to part with – hats, fishhooks, mats, clubs, bows and arrows and model canoes.14 After the lengthy stay on the Columbia, the ship left the river on September 4th, 1845 and continued down the west coast of America, reaching northern California a few days later. On September 9th and 10th, the brigantine was docked at Point Pinos in Monterey Bay, while captain Werngren and the crew went on land. The visit provided another opportunity to trade and barter with the Costanoan people and Euro-Americans before the course was set to Oahu on September 11th.

Souvenirs from the West Coast Bows and arrows were popular souvenirs and ethnographic objects collected by the Europeans and Americans along the Pacific coast of America (and elsewhere).15 Lewis and Clark, who stayed and collected among the Clatsops, a Chinookian group on the lower Columbia during the winter of 1805–1806, admired the neatness and ingenuity of the construction of bows and arrows and acknowledged their superi- ority in hunting.16 Corney made similar observations on Chinook expertise in using bows and arrows, and the finesse of their execution, which made them desired collector’s items.17 In 1841, just four years before the Bull’s sailing in the area, the US Exploring Expedition collected about 300 objects from the territory stretching between the Nootka Sound and San Francisco, including 85 bows and arrows, chiefly from the Oregon area.18 Today, some examples of these collections of archery equip-

11 Vancouver 1801,126. 12 Corney 1896, 76; Cole & Darling 1990, 119–34; Malloy 2000, 41–2. 13 Dunn 1844; Kaeppler 1985, 147–99; Malloy 2000, 33–8. 14 Malloy 2000, 43. 15 Hudson & Bates 2014, 69–71. 16 Lewis 1806, accessed 2019-09-20. 17 Corney 1896, 61–2, 76. 18 Kaeppler 1985, 121, 142–3. 181 Arrows and bow from Oregon and Northern California

Fig. 16.6. Late sixteenth-century engraving by Maerten de Vos depicting allegory of America. She wears a feather headdress, holds a bow and quiver with arrows and sits on a giant armadillo. In the background warring tribes use bows and arrows. From Adriaen Collaert’s Four Continents (n.d)

ment are kept at the National Museum of American Indian, the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University, the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts19, Kunstkamera in St. Petersburg20 and the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology at the University of Cambridge. Archery played an important role in indigenous sustenance strategies and was deeply embedded in indigenous spirituality, mythology and social practice. Europe- an explorers and merchant did not always recognize these complex associations, but the skill with which the indigenous people used their bows, and their omnipresence, was enough to elevate the bow and arrow to a potent symbol of American Indian culture. From the sixteenth century onwards, printed and painted personifications

19 Malloy 2000. 20 Hudson & Bates 2014.

182 Arrows and bow from Oregon and Northern California of America and images of Native Americans featured bows and arrows as essential accessories (Fig 16.6). They were symbols of the mobile lifestyle that relied on hunting as well as a particular style of indigenous warfare. In the nineteenth century, the romantic literary notions of primitivism idealized the ‘natural’ human using the bow and arrow as a symbol of ‘free’ indigenous lifestyle, hunting and military prowess, natural self-sufficiency and masculinity. Archery stood for the simplicity of natural way of life.21 This view was quite the opposite of the scholarly and popular perception of Native American archery as a backward and primitive technology. Accordingly, the bow became regarded as one of the hallmarks of the savage life that put the Native Americans in close association with beasts – a signifier of Native Americans as arche- typical hunting societies stubbornly mired in a crude stage of development, failing to embrace progress and assimilation.22 Werngren’s journal entries betray little about his own views on the Native Americans that he might have imparted on young Edu- ard. Regardless of their perception of the inhabitants of the Columbia River and northern California coast, they recognized the symbolic meaning of the bow and arrows, as souvenirs aptly capturing and commemorating their brief sojourn among the Indians of North America. These implements might have appealed to young Eduard because of their gendered associations with masculinity, self-reliance and adventure. Beyond the biographical resonance, the letter of Peter Olof Liljewalch suggests that the bow and arrows had a certain aura of relic, representing old technology being replaced by new types of weapon. If salvage impulses played a part in Werngren’s and Liljewalch’s collecting practices, bows and arrows might have not only been judged as authentic and typical but also as antiquated, potentially disappearing, and thus of ethnographic value. The ‘savage’ needed to be salvaged.

21 McNairn 2005, 7–8, 16–7. 22 McNairn 2005, 6–7, 10–3; Bohr 2014, 2–5.

183 Fig 17.1. The King’s House situated in Lundagård. A third floor was added in the mid-nineteenth century. Photo: Gunnar Menander.

184 17. Exhibiting Stobæus. Ethnographic collections on display in Lund from the eighteenth century to the present day

Per Karsten

The project Beyond curiosity and wonder—understanding the Museum Stobæanum made it possible to identify a large part of the original collections of Kilian Stobæus. Considering the constant moves of the museum within the university, it is surprising that so much of this historical collection has survived until the present day. The first evacuation took place in the year 1802 when natural history specimens were separated from artefacts, and moved to the newly erected and adjacent building, called ‘Kuggis’.1 This was just in the nick of time. The storage conditions in the old King’s House (Fig. 17.1) in the late eighteenth century were inadequate, with constant insect attacks and damp conditions that caused losses in both the zoological and botanical materials.2 Despite this, a large number of cultural objects – even organic materials such as textiles – have survived. The sectioning of the collection into artefacts and biofacts, respectively, formed the basis for two separate institutions within the university: the Historical Museum and the Zoological Museum, formally founded in 1805. That same year, the remaining artefacts were moved down one floor to the Carolina Hall entrance. New cabinets and showcases were purchased, and the museum was also opened to the public.3 In 1882, the Museum left the King’s House and moved to the newly erected University House into a specifically designed room called the Hall of Columns situated in the basement. That year also represented the end of collecting ethnographic objects. Instead, donations of ethnographic material seem to have been directed to the newly opened open-air museum ‘Kulturen’.4

1 See also Mostadius, chapter 11 this volume. 2 Löwegren 1952, 108–12. 3 Personal communication with curator Andreas Manhag, Historical Museum at Lund University. 4 Full name: Kulturhistoriska föreningen för södra Sverige.

185 Exhibiting Stobæus As was the case in many university towns – Glasgow, for example – the Univer- sity leadership and museum coexisted in the same impressive buildings. In Lund, it was a return to the earlier situation during Stobæus’s time. The proud cultural heritage represented by the collections were a means of both legitimizing and marketing the university. The presence of the objects in the beautiful hall was short-lived, however. In 1910, the museum moved back to the Carolina Hall in the King’s House. Eight years later, in 1918, it was again time for evacuation, this time to the nearby restored Bishop’s House at Kraftstorg. What happened with the public life of the Museum Stobæanum after Stobæus death? The museum was not a museum in a modern sense, where the visitor could expect to encounter a dramatic scenography with mounted illuminated artefacts in glass showcases. The purpose was to provide study collections for education and therefore openable cabinets and showcases that facilitated the demonstrations were preferred. The animals and artefacts suspended from the ceiling still created a fascinating atmosphere surrounding the cabinets, even if their positions were no more than a practical way of using the available space. From the visits by Magnus von Celse, Abraham Bäck and Carl F. H. Uggla in 17415, we know that the museum comprised of five different organized cabinets, where minerals, fossils, insects and shells were stored.6 Their arrangement is confirmed by studying the Stobæus portrait, painted by Johan Mörth in 1737.7 The portrait depicts Stobæus sitting at his desk under the suspended Nile crocodile, surrounded by his collection and two cabinets behind him. The message is unmistakable: Stobæus wanted to promote the Natural History Cabinet. His main interest was the natural world. The ethnographic and historical objects we know were part of the museum are virtually absent in the painting. They were never key features in Stobæus’s small universe.8 We know that Carl Linnæus visited Lund and the King’s House on 10 June 1749, but only a short and superficial description of the museum remains:

Museum Academicum consists to the major part of the late archiator Kilian Stobei collections, mainly lapideis except several beautiful pieces, donated by the late Coun- cillor of State, count Carl Gyllenborg, during his chancellery here.9

5 See also Manhag, chapter 4 and Mostadius, chapter 11 this volume. 6 The descriptions of von Celse and Bäck are published in Löwegren 1952. Uggla´s description is published in Hildebrand 1934, 129–52. 7 See Naum, chapter 2, Fig. 2.1 this volume. 8 See Manhag, chapter 4 this volume. 9 Linnæus 1751. Author’s translation.

186 Exhibiting Stobæus From 1759, we have a more thorough review, by a disappointed Daniel Solander, who in a letter to his teacher Linnæus heavily criticizes both the physical premises and organization of the museum. Håkan Håkansson has given a vivid description:

A couple of cramped and gloomy rooms in which moth-eaten animals and shrivelled fish were ‘hanging from the ceiling and floating among the dust’; a truly unremark- able collection of insects, consisting of a handful of common bugs and butterflies preserved between small pieces of green glass; minerals and fossils crammed higgle- dy-piggledy into cupboards containing everything from corals and engraved gem- stones to amber rings – ‘everything in disorder’, he sighed despondently.’10

A gloomy picture of a decaying museum indeed! There is only scarce information in the records about how the collection was displayed during the nineteenth century. In the beginning of the 1800s, there was a pressing need to preserve the collections. After long discussions, the decision was made to at least secure the cabinets with glass. During the 1840s, new cabinets and showcases where added. An inventory list from 1855 provides some insight into the museum’s atmosphere.11 The museum had three halls to furnish in the entrance hall of the King’s House. The first contained five cabinets and two showcases. Some of the showcases also had drawers. Cabinet No. 1 contained 66 objects from ‘China’; No. 2 – 23 objects from Oceania, No. 3 had 38 objects from both Oceania and North America; No. 4 contained 12 Greenlandic objects; and No. 5 had 16 objects of Sami origin. The two showcases contained 80 artefacts from ancient Egypt and Rome and additional 31 archaeological objects from Sweden. In the same room were textiles and battle clubs suspended from the walls, and from the roof hung a kayak from Greenland. Altogether, the layout was not so different from the precursor. The other two halls displayed mainly archaeological Stone Age objects and the large collection of prehistoric artefacts donated by the zoologist and antiquarian Sven Nilsson. The next clue is a photo from the 1880s showing the Historical Museum refur- nished in the Hall of Columns in the present University Building (Fig. 17.2). It is obvious that already at that point the museum was focussing mainly on archaeology, with objects from the Stone and Bronze Ages dominating the Exhibition Hall. Despite the new impressive premises, the old cabinets were reused. It created a sense of crowding, and it did not harmonize well with the aesthetics of the architecture. A magnification of the western most part of the exhibition hall reveals an interesting detail (Fig. 17.3). Through the entrance to the apse, one can see the Egyptian sar-

10 Solander quoted in Håkansson 2019. 11 Carlquist 1855.

187 Exhibiting Stobæus

Fig 17.2. The Historical Museum, refurbished in the Hall of Columns. Photo: LUHM. cophagus with its mummy lying on the floor.12 A piece of paper lies on the top. Adjacent to the sarcophagus stands some sort of an easel. From the ceiling, a meter long section of the Greenlandic kayak’s front emerges from the right. The picture gives a Spartan look to say the least; there are no cabinets or showcases visible, and the walls are empty. Of course, this type of furniture could well have existed in the other part of the apse. Overall, it gives an indication that the old collection of historical and ethnographic materials was probably still kept together and furthermore, it was open to the public. There is little to say about the museum’s short stay in the King’s House between the years 1910 and 1918. The beautiful Carolina Hall, with its antechamber, was once again put into use. There are no written accounts concerning the display of the Stobæus’s collection or the ethnographic materials, but the overall impression of the museum must have been enhanced when the old cabinets again took their original positions in the Carolina Hall. Some photos reveal medieval church art and historical weapons alongside the archaeological finds. When the Zoological Museum finally left its premises at Kraftstorg and moved to new facilities at Sölvegatan, the

12 See Östlund, chapter 6 this volume.

188 Exhibiting Stobæus

Fig 17.3. Detail showing the entrance to the apse and the Ethnographic Collections. Photo: LUHM.

189 Exhibiting Stobæus University decided that the Historical Museum should take over the former Bishop’s Palace. As part of the Lund University 250th anniversary, the new premises for the Historical Museum at Kraftstorg were formally opened on 30 September 1918. Un- der pomp and ceremony, crowded members of the government, the bishop and the former Head of the National Heritage Board, Oscar Montelius, listened to a speech by the Museum’s first director, the lecturer in Art History Otto Rydbeck.13 Rydbeck had every reason to be proud. In the new Museum, he had created structure and academic reputation for the extensive collections of prehistoric and medieval objects. His basic idea was to offer a museum for the scientific community in which the entire extent and quality of the collections could be overviewed.14 Rydbeck’s background in art, however, revealed itself in the design of the museum halls. The exhibition of Medieval Church Cultural Heritage from Scania became a true art exhibition, and serene halls with a highly developed sense of symmetry were hallmarks of his overall scenography. In reality, it was a combination of storage and exhibition. In the prehistoric departments, the shelves were crowded with archaeological materials. According to Rydbeck, this type of display facilitated easy overview for the researchers. ‘Above all, one should seek to avoid any kind of showmanship when it comes to the arrangement of objects, which is widely separated from expressions of pure artistic taste.’15 However, these arrangements were nothing new. In the early nineteenth century, this was standard procedure, but Rydbeck’s highly developed sense of timeless aesthetics ensured that the overcrowded showcases were straight- ened up with more accurate mountings and limited exposures. Rydbeck also designed and constructed all the new dust free showcases and glass cabinets in the museum.16 Concerning text information, he argued that ‘the descriptive text should be concentrated and limited as much as possible. The pure enjoyment of art, that objects and their arrangement in an Art or Cultural history museum can provide, should not drown in didactic overflows.’17 The museum did not aspire to enlist in a pedagogic mission towards schoolchildren. The Historical Museum became a museum created by a professor for other professors. Rydbeck’s ambitions stretched further than to the newly inaugurated building, however. Early in the 1920s, a plan was launched that meant big changes for the exhibitions in the museum. This included the construction of a new Cathedral Museum just across the street in the upcoming Chapter of the Cathedral. Further-

13 Lunds Weckoblad, 1 oktober 2018. 14 Rydbeck 1943, 42. 15 Rydbeck 1943, 42. 16 Rydbeck 1935, 1–5. 17 Rydbeck 1943, 45.

190 Exhibiting Stobæus more, both museums would be connected by a passage supported by columns.18 In 1932, the new Cathedral museum opened. The passage between the two buildings – popularly called the ‘Bridge of Sighs’ – meant that the coin cabinet in the eastern end of the first floor had to be removed. The only perceivable new placement according to Rydbeck was the eastern part of the attic. Here there was a hall divided by a steel construction that supported the elevated roof of the Church hall down under. In the southern half of the hall, the coin and medal cabinet was set up, and in the northern half, the ‘Museum of Curiosities’ was established.19 The older collections, according to Rydbeck, had once again been reunited through a painstaking survey of older catalogues:

In aged ugly cabinets, that were saved deliberately and in some simple newly made showcases or suspended in the ceiling are kept tools, weapons, textiles and uniforms from Sweden, Greenland, North America, East India, China, the Pacific Islands among many others. Among these heterogenous, often very precious things, one could especially mention: The Chancellor’s Caps of Lund University (the smaller one still in use by Gustaf Ljunggren) and hats, A cane belonging to Nils Dacke, The death-mask of King Charles XII, A combined battle axe and pistol discovered on the battlefield of Lützen, ‘The cranium of Descartes’ [fake], The four elements of Prof J. Leche, Wood carvings made by Magnus Stenbock, The cane of Bishop Peder Win- strup, A Sami drum, A ‘strigilis’ and a ‘floribus’, The baton of Duke Phillippe dÉgal- ités, ‘A white woman’s picture somewhat similar to Venus when climbing out of the bath’, ‘A goddess from Siberia’, ‘The world’s [at the end of the nineteenth century] largest Nephrite axe, An African ivory ‘war trumpet’, ‘A piece of wool from the flying fox’, Gyllenborg’s Egyptian mummy, Chinese letters of safe conduct; further suspended in the ceiling, a Greenlandic kayak with associated dress made of seal skin, to the left an Indian canoe. Under the last-mentíoned on the wall, a Chinese drum from the temple of the War God, adjacent to a fork-shaped tool from Java used for capturing ‘amok-runners’ and over it, visible against the canoe, the Prophet Jonas made in folk-art style’. This enumeration gives, although minor, an idea of the tourist attractions, this collection represent with two hundred years of ancestry.20

18 Manhag 2017, 131–41. 19 Rydbeck 1943, 45. Apparently, since the move in 1918 the attic was already used for storing many of the large ethnographic objects such as the kayak and canoe, so it was only a short distance to their new placement in the new hall. In 2007, we found out that both the canoe and the kayak were too long to be moved within the central stairwell. They had to be evacuated by means of crane operations from outside. This logistical problem must also have played a role in Rydbeck’s decision to use part of the attic as a cabinet of curiosities. 20 Rydbeck 1943, 45. Author’s translation.

191 Exhibiting Stobæus

Fig 17.4. The ‘Museum of Curiosities’ in the attic. Photo from 1937. Photo: LUHM.

It is clear from Rydbeck’s description that he had only minor interest in the value and importance of the collection of curiosities. From the initial sentence, we learn that he thought that the exhibition required some sort of organized chaos. The idea was apparently to display everything that did not fit into the more traditional academic collections, where archaeology and art history took front seat. In the end, the hall became a typical Rydbeck exhibition. The result can be seen in a photo from the 1930s (Fig. 17.4). Despite the eclectic mix of objects, we obtain a clean, clear impression. For example, on the left wall, one can see a crucifix together with battle-clubs from New Zealand and a Chinese wallpaper and on the right side perfectly arranged, are the representations of four elements by Stobæus’s assistant Johan Leche. After Rydbeck’s retirement, the cabinet of curiosities degenerated into a historical dustbin. Every object regarded as a curiosity or which seemed unfit to enter the Medieval or Prehistoric departments ended up here. That’s why the medieval playing cards from underneath the famous Choir stalls in Lund Cathedral were displayed here rather than in the Cathedral Museum. Around the 1970s, the museum man- agement decided that the cabinet also should house the collection of historical arms. The weapons were displayed on the northeastern wall. At the same time, the exhi-

192 Exhibiting Stobæus

Fig 17.5. The ‘Museum of Curiosities’. Note the weapons display at the right and the small office in the background. Photo: Bengt Almgren. bition was adapted to also house a small office for the museum’s numismatist, who sat at her desk under the kayak and canoe until 2005 (Fig. 17.5). There was still no interest in researching the original context of the objects. After a period during which the museum was threatened with closure, the Vice Chancellor, in 2003, decided that the Historical Museum still should be a part of Lund University. A new mission to open the museum to the public was added.21 As is now customary, a strategic plan and vision were formulated. A large-scale resto- ration and construction work began involving all stories, with work carried out during the years 2005 to 2010.22 In 2007, the exhibition ‘Kilian Stobæus’s Cabinet of Curiosities’ opened on the first floor, with scenography by Rie Hägerdal in co-oper- ation with Ulla von Wovern, the museum’s numismatist. This was the first step in transforming this floor into Science and Museum History exhibitions, with examples from the eighteenth century and the 1930s. Key features were atmosphere and curiosity creating a sense of a museum from a bygone era. The bold colours in the

21 The other two formal responsibilities are to provide infrastructure and service for research and education and to store and maintain archaeological finds from Scania. 22 Karsten 2004.

193 Exhibiting Stobæus exhibition – blue ceiling, green walls, brown orange cabinets and checkered floor – induced a powerful overall impression (Fig. 17.6). Many visitors regard this to be the most beautiful hall in the museum. Each large cabinet has a concise title sign; ‘The Pacific’, ‘Religion’, ‘Northern Hemisphere’, and so on. Small display boxes within the cabinets contain a jumble of strange objects surrounded by small infor- mative notes covering the cabinet glass protective planches. The short production period did not allow for more detailed research into the original context of the objects and meaning. Only the citations from the brief descriptions found in the nineteenth century catalogues are included. However, the title itself created a problem: ‘Kilian Stobæus’s Cabinet of Curiosities’. Besides a short biography of Stobæus, there is no background or presentation of the accessions of objects that took place after Stobæus’s death. This is a problem because the majority of the displayed objects belong to the nineteenth century. Furthermore, the objects in the exhibition were more or less the ones previously shown in the old exhibition. As a tribute to the very soul of collecting, some modern ‘curiosities’ were also added – including a stone core from the drillings of the City Tunnel Project in Malmö and a piece of the Berlin Wall. The mixture of objects from different contexts and periods made it difficult for the visitors to determine which objects belonged to Stobæus and his era, and which objects were brought in later to the university. In 2014, the Historical Museum became deeply involved with a plan to construct a University Visitor Centre in the King’s House.23 A new University History exhibition on the first floor was planned, and our idea was to add a unique, spectacular point of interest in Lund – the re-creation of Museum Stobæanum in its exact original setting, at the western end of the first floor. Our ambition was to install a glass cube with a visitor tunnel where all the objects identified by the research project could be on display. There was also exciting possibility to display the Stobæus’s portrait in the exact location where Stobæus posed for the artist Mörth in 1737. However, in January 2018, the university decided to instead use the nearby university building for the Visitor Centre and our plans had to change. During 2018 and 2019, the Historical Museum relentlessly worked to realize a new exhibition by developing and reshaping the existing exhibition. By increasing the exhibition area to include parts of the stairwell, there are good possibilities to create both a mini-version of Museum Stobæanum and to tell the story of the continuing collecting activities of the museum until the end of the nineteenth century. At last, we have secured funding from both the university and the Sparbanksstiftelsen Finn Foundation, with the latter having promised to fund the catalogue, apps and a pedagogical program for schoolchildren. At the time of writing, the project has

23 Kungshuset 2017.

194 Exhibiting Stobæus

Fig. 17.6. The exhibition ‘Kilian Stobæus’s Cabinet of Curiosities’ opened in 2007. Photo: Gunnar Menander. started and we can hopefully look forward to a premiere in early 2021. In the exhibition hall, objects will be displayed according to origin, i.e. Oceania, Asia, Ameri- ca, Africa and Scandinavia. Basic information about their origin, function and dating will appear in the cabinets, while apps, publications and lectures will provide access to more elaborate stories and insights. The apps will also provide access to the Alvin database descriptions and photos.

195 196 Postscript

197 Fig. 18.1. Cabinet of Curiosities (2000) by Natasha Nicholson. Courtesy of Ilaven, www.archive.org.

198 18. The return of the cabinet of curiosity

Ulf Johansson Dahre

During the last decades, the interest in cabinets of curiosities, or as they were once called, ‘theatres of the world’, has re-emerged both as a general social phenomenon and as an exhibition design on the museum scene. Not long ago, a cabinet of curiosities was often viewed as a historical anomaly, maybe funny or interesting, but without any social or knowledge relevance in a contemporary globalized world. Today there exist numerous publications, new exhibitions, shops, restaurants and private homes with a cabinet of curiosity theme (Fig. 18.1).1 Many people throughout history have devoted themselves to creating inventories of the world by assembling objects encyclopaedically in written or visual form. Depending on their purpose, the setting for each of these collections has been referred to by different names: ‘museum,’ ‘Wunderkammer’, ‘glyptothek’, ‘grotto,’ or, ‘cabinet of curiosity.’ The collections were linked to the development of the arts and sciences; cabinets of curiosities were genuine echo chambers for Renaissance culture. Why, then, has the idea and interest in cabinet of curiosities re-emerged today? Why does it once again seem so attractive?

The resurgence of the cabinet of curiosities The re-emergence of cabinets of curiosities is linked to the contemporary challenges of modern scientific ideas and discourses. The institution of the cabinet of curiosities itself can be understood as a historical expression of royal, imperial or intellectual collections and displays. The cabinet of curiosities belongs to a period between the theological hegemony of the medieval Church and the scientific revolu-

1 Bowry 2015, 256.

199 The return of the cabinet of curiosity tion of the Enlightenment. The idea of curiosity, according to Krzysztof Pomian, was linked to the emerging social, political and economic contexts of this period. It became a ‘desire to know’ something new.2 By historical analogy, the present interest in cabinets of curiosities has at least two similarities with the historical cabinets established during the Renaissance. Firstly, the cabinet of curiosities represents some kind of intellectual art spectacle.3 The re-emergence of the cabinet of curiosity is linked to a post-period of some kind, as in post-modern, post-industrial, or post-human. The context of modernism is crum- bling. Peoples and societies are searching for new knowledge. Secondly, the idea of the cabinet of curiosity constitutes a challenge to established theories of knowledge. The cabinet of curiosities represents a break with modern ideas of knowledge. His- torically the cabinets emerged after the Middle Ages, during the Renaissance and later paved the way for the Enlightenment and modern discourses of knowledge. Today, many cabinets suggest a break and pose challenges to established modern ideas of knowledge production. A cabinet of curiosities implies new ways of thinking, seeing, linking, classifying, and knowing.

An agonizing world Why then, are the modern scientific notions of knowledge being challenged now? One similarity with past eras is the transformation of the world order. The Renais- sance sought new ideas of the world and of knowledge as such. This resembles present times, where our modern ideas of knowledge are being challenged from different directions. As early as the 1930s, the philosopher Walter Benjamin argued that the desire to collect and make new classifications was a reaction to a world in motion. When the world moves, Benjamin argued, we try to re-order a seemingly chaotic situation. According to Benjamin, ‘there is in the life of the collector a dia- lectical tension between the poles of disorder and order.’4 The seemingly unstructured collection of the cabinet of curiosity reflects the unstructured world of knowledge. Little wonder that Benjamin, a Jew living in the emerging Nazi Germany, arrived at this conclusion. A similar interpretation was made in 1963 by the French surrealist poet, Raymond Queneau. Queneau argued that the drive to collect, to try to find new ways of classifying and exhibiting objects and knowledge, this continuing search for new knowledge, categories and understanding, characterizes an agonizing world and civilization that has come to an end.5 Modern scientific ideas,

2 Pomian 2003, 16. 3 Bowry 2015, 265–73. 4 Benjamin 1970, 60. 5 Queneau 1963; cf. Davenne & Fleurent 2011, 203.

200 The return of the cabinet of curiosity

Fig. 18.2. ‘Museum of Ole Worm, 1655’, installation by Rosamond Purcell, permanent collection of the Natural History Museum of Denmark. Photo: Jens Astrup. according to Queneau, are like heavy tombstones under which agonizing cultures are stretched out. From the Renaissance to the French Revolution, the cabinet of curiosities displayed disparate objects in a single place (Fig. 18.2). Our culture con- tinues to gather diverse objects and to place them into a single setting. Perhaps this is the appeal of viewing unusual connections, an idea suggested by Comte de Lau- tréamont in his surrealistic nineteenth century poem describing ‘the chance encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on a dissecting table.’6

6 Comte de Lautréamont is sometimes referred to as the father of surrealism. The poem is in Les Chants de Maldoror, 1869.

201 The return of the cabinet of curiosity During the Renaissance, the Church was gradually losing the battle of knowledge production and control over the peoples of Europe. The dogmatic laws that had previously prohibited scientific exploration were being challenged to their limits. For example, while the Church had banned the study of human anatomy through dissection, increasing numbers of volumes were published on human anatomy. The exploration of the world through a cabinet of curiosities marked a similar rising status of the natural sciences.

The longing for nostalgia The return of the cabinet of curiosities may also express a desire to build connections between past and present and between collectors and artists. The ‘cabinet of curiosity’ evokes a feeling of something old-fashioned. Is the resurgence of the cabinet an example of nostalgia? Formerly, the collector, or as they were also called ‘the arrang- er of worlds’, was not considered an artist, but rather an amateur – ‘one who loves,’ according to the etymology. On the other hand, artists have long identified themselves as creators of worlds. Artists create worlds ‘out of nothing.’ Today, we are witnessing a dilution of boundaries between creative domains and the creators themselves. The curator and the artist are combining their efforts, the former proposing organizing principles, the latter dependent on the museum for legitimacy. In addition, cross-fertilization practices bring together a variety of objects and techniques, resulting in installations that are clearly distinct from the modern, fixed categories of ‘painting’, ‘sculpture’, or ‘architecture’. This destabilization of the boundaries between decorative and visual arts, European and non-European arts, collectors and artists is not a modern innovation. It also existed during the Renaissance, embodied in the cabinet of curiosities.

Bringing order to the world The aim of collections of curiosities was to establish mirrors of the world, to capture the knowledge of the world in one single room. It was an effort to bring order to the world. Cabinets were mostly situated in princely homes, and powerful persons made it part of the family histories, providing family and relatives with encyclopaedic knowledge of the world and one’s own genealogy. In every cabinet, one found the family’s ancestors side by side with the thinkers of antiquity: Plato together with Dante and Hippocrates; Moses and Cicero with Saint Thomas and Homer. Seen in this manner, the cabinet of curiosities was not simply an aesthetic display. It was a genuine attempt to create a theatre of the world for learning. How was this collection of objects supposed to be organized? The different classifications attempt-

202 The return of the cabinet of curiosity ed by collectors led to the development of new analytical tools. One overarching premise in many of these collections acknowledged a link between nature and arti- fice, making it possible to reconcile Christian thought and the humanists’ first scientific steps: Nature, or the work of God, was carried on through human artificial works, and the bond that tied them together was as indisputable as God. In this material continuity, manufactured works were subjected to new observations. The display of artificial objects alongside natural ones was not a contradiction. They were both elements in these chambers of wonders.

The collector as artist The contemporary cabinet of curiosity also often makes a historical reference to the connection between art and the market. It is also a tacit agreement between collectors and merchants. Whether we accept postmodern arguments or fall back on nostalgia, re-establishing the cabinet of curiosity is like going back to the time before museums. Collecting is open to diverse readings and narratives. The human being is constantly classifying and re-classifying its world and reality. Yet the cabinet cele- brates the collector above all, and this taste for accumulation is connected to periods of artistic drought; it is filled with efforts at re-classification. In current exhibition design, especially in museums other than art museums, one sees a tendency to create cabinet-of-curiosity-like exhibitions. Celebrated in recent research as an ancestor to the modern museum, the cabinet has become a model for expressing a playful investigation and interaction between objects and viewers. In fact, after the turn of the millennium, the cabinet style of exhibiting objects has become a new fashion trend for curators at non-art museums.

The hybrid nature of the world of knowledge Typically, the cabinet of curiosities represents a different set of organizational principles than the Enlightenment’s formal taxonomies and codified relationships between objects, species and specimens. As a place for exhibiting and sharing knowledge among a limited number of people who gathered there, the cabinet was based on metaphors, allegory and various associations between its objects. These associations were not always rational by modern standards, but this only made the production of meaning more poetic and subjective.7

7 Hooper-Greenhill 1992, 78–104.

203 The return of the cabinet of curiosity Perhaps these values strike contemporary practitioners as engaging and reasonable for today’s audiences. It seems that contemporary cabinets also try to reconnect the human to the natural, and the human to material objects. The cabinet is also a tool for illustrating new scientific trends that might not be possible to fit into modern categories. This may be most obvious in the field of artificial intelligence, where the hybridity of human and machine decision-making is said to distort a fundamental modern distinction. The cabinet is described as a process of putting together previously unconnected things, people, spaces and discourses. If this is true, then the contemporary cabinet allows freer associations with displayed objects than any mod- ernist scientific perception of exhibitions ever could.8 In the cabinet style, metaphor and imitation also become key tools in selecting objects for display. As there is no absolute meaning in this kind of exhibition, the project becomes one of demonstrat- ing that there are multiple ways of understanding and classifying objects. By its very idea, the contemporary cabinet proclaims that any classification system or system of description or representation is partially flawed and biased. Alternatively, the cabinet may be, as André Breton once said about the process of surrealism, ‘the chance encounter of two distant unrealities on unsuitable ground.’9 Because they present an alternative history of exhibited objects, contemporary cabinets encourage not only a different approach to knowledge, but also an interdisciplinary way of learning. This mixing of disciplines is particularly relevant to projects conducted in university museums, which may adopt different approaches to the meaning of objects. As Lyndel King and Janet Marstine have shown, such curatorial projects undertaken together with staff and students at university collections are capable of producing radical critical thinking, comparative epistemologies and new trends in museum theory. They introduce new values in art and in the way museums produce meanings, especially when artists collaborate with non-art museums.10 Furthermore, scholars have also argued that the internet is just one huge cabinet of curiosity. The internet brings together objects from history, music, art, design, literature, biology, politics, geology and other disciplines. It re-enacts a universal world of knowledge as conceived prior to its division into current disciplinary categories. In parallel, the internet is a domain, which brings together disparate representations and knowledge from every discipline. Users are free to make choices of their own and create personal categories. It is likely that almost all of us have our own cabinet of curiosities in our personal computers.

8 Bann 2003. 9 Cf. Mauries 2002, 218. 10 King & Marstine 2005, 266–91. 204 The return of the cabinet of curiosity Conclusions: what does the cabinet of curiosities say about the contemporary world?

Studying cabinets of curiosities reveals a wide variety of ways in which the idea of the cabinets has manifested itself from the sixteenth century to the present day. Cabinets appear to be echo chambers of the cultural ideas that created Europe from the Renaissance to the eighteenth century. More importantly, they were laboratories for formulating and rethinking knowledge. Providing artistic and scientific diversity, they put together different worlds, connecting ancient, medieval and Christian traditions and combining them with emerging scientific aspirations. By collecting heterogeneous objects, collectors attempted to display knowledge about the world. In essence, they were asking: ‘How does the world actually work?’ The collectors used the cabinet to provide an answer. While the Wunderkammer marked an encyclopaedic and objective approach to nature, the wonder and curiosity that they inspired continued to preserve a sense of mysticism and religious beliefs. An excellent example of this contradiction lies in the collectors’ treatment of objects such as a crocodile or a piece of coral. How were these curious things to be defined and categorized? Because few people were familiar with crocodiles or coral in their natural environments, they invented definitions and images based on their personal fantasies. Therefore, the question of how to define a crocodile or a coral could be approached from various perspectives: medical, superstitious, Biblical, scientific, or purely aesthetic. Some observers thought that a crocodile was a type of monster, a sign from God that man should seek order to the world.11 Some thought of coral as a treatment for anaemia; others kept it as a talis- man against being struck down by lightning or as protection from the evil eye; naturalists debated whether to classify coral as mineral or animal; and those with an eye for aesthetics simply arranged the coral according to its forms and colours. The cabinets reflected a particular way of seeing the world. Today the cabinet may seem chaotic, randomly structured or irrational. In fact, there was a very structured and systematic organization of the knowledge of the world. The structure of the cabinet’s knowledge was different from the ideas that emerged out of the Enlight- enment thinking. The cabinets were usually not divided between naturalia and ar- tificalia, in as much as every object or specimen was God’s creation. Nor was there any sense of chronology. The Enlightenment brought rationality and science to the collections in a new way. The collections displayed in the cabinets were later to be divided into new museums organized according to modern scientific ideas and classifications.12

11 See Johansson Dahre, chapter 8 this volume. 12 Dam-Mikkelsen & Lundbæk 1980. 205 The return of the cabinet of curiosity Let us return to the question of why are cabinet of curiosities re-emerging today. I have suggested several answers to this question. First, the modern ideas of Enlight- enment science and knowledge are now being challenged by new ideas and paradigms.13 Second, artists always seem to be searching for the edge of knowledge and are ready to challenge established social, cultural and political categories. Little wonder, then, that many artists today have turned to the idea of the cabinet of curiosities.14 Third, the internet and social media, with its cabinet of curiosities structure, is a celebration of strangeness, irrationality and disorder. It pushes us to break or interrogate the existing knowledge categories. Fourth, as Rachel Morris has argued, there are perhaps two different ways of viewing history: as something that is knowable, that is, if only we do our research well enough; or seeing history as basically a strange unknowable phenomenon.15 Rational scientific ideas gave us the confidence that history could be knowable if we only applied good, sound methods and theories into the research process. This was also part of the modern museum idea. Clean, clear and pragmatic displays could convey knowledge to the visitor. With this approach, history became understandable and logical. This used to be a general paradigm of how the world works. Now it seems we are living in ‘liquid times’, as the sociologist Zygmunt Bauman has argued.16 Our present liquid time is characterised by a more blurred, non-linear world no more so confident in ideas that we can actually understand history. Today we have a hard time even understanding our contemporary world, much less its past. The world is never completely knowable. The result of this insight, or perspective, is that the world becomes chaotic, less pragmatic, and less clear. We turn to aesthetics instead of facts and knowledge. The turn to the cabinet of curiosities has become one solution to understanding this uncertain, liquid world.

13 Bowry 2015, 70. 14 Bann 2003, 118. 15 Morris 2015, accessed, 2020-01-28. 16 Bauman 2006.

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